


Heaven's Grief

by wallflowerchronicles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Dean Has Commitment Issues, Demon Dean Winchester, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Season/Series 09-10, Sexual Content, Torture, implied bottom!dean, season 03-04 flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1825606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallflowerchronicles/pseuds/wallflowerchronicles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is no ordinary demon. He's a Knight of Hell, and he can't be cured with human blood. Luckily, Castiel knows another way to cure a demon. In order to get Dean to cooperate, Cas ends up telling him about the first time he used this cure, when he pulled Dean out of hell years ago. The ordeal stirs up old memories for Cas, memories that he desperately wishes Dean shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dean has nightmares about hell. These parts are italicized and can easily be skipped.

_"If heaven's grief brings hell's rain, then I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday"_

_\- Fall Out Boy_

 

Dean can hear them talking out side of the dungeon’s door. Sam had somehow guilt-tripped Crowley into chaining him up in the bunker’s private prison and was now consulting with Cas in the hall. Dean tugged at the restraints on his wrists even though he knew that trying to escape was pointless. The handcuffs were specially designed to imprison demons, after all. But he was restless and filled with rage. The Mark itched for the first blade, but knowing Sammy, it was probably locked up somewhere well out of his reach.

“We can cure him, right?” Sam asks, though he makes it sound more like a statement than a question. “A demon can be cured with human blood. Easy.”

“That is true Sam, but I’m not sure…” Castiel replies. Sam cuts him off.

“I know what you’re thinking. If I do it, it might complete the third trial, and I could die,” Sam says pragmatically. “So we’ll just get someone else’s blood,” he concludes.

“Sam, I’m not sure that it would work,” Cas states calmly. “Dean is no ordinary demon. Like Cain, the Mark has made him into a Knight of Hell.” After a brief pause, he adds, “But there may be another way.” Sam knew there was a reason he had decided to call Cas.

“Okay, we’ll do that, then. What do we need? How does it work?”

“Much like human blood, an angel’s grace can also be used to reconcile a demon with their own humanity,” Castiel states.

“But Cas, your grace is running low as it is.” It was Cas’ turn to interrupt Sam.

“It will eventually run out no matter what,” Castiel points out. “The least I can do is put it to good use while I still can. Your brother gave his life to help me defeat Metatron. Let me do this for him.”

“If you really think that this is our best option, then okay.” Sam dosen’t exactly like the idea of letting Cas sacrifice himself, but saving Dean is his first priority.

“I believe that we will also need to remove the Mark in order for Dean to return to his true self. But I have no idea how to go about doing that.”

“That makes sense. I’ll summon Crowley again and see if he knows,” Sam decides, “And if not, then I’ll track down Cain.”

Dean stopped paying attention about then. After a few more minutes, he hears footsteps retreating down the hallway. He wonders why he can hear so well through the thick steel door, and concludes that it must be a demon perk. Demon perks also included not needing to eat, sleep, or piss, along with not really giving a crap about other people.

Suddenly, Dean feels a small gust of wind against his cheek and hears a faint flapping of wings.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says after appearing a few feet away.

“What, you can’t open doors now?” Dean asks, “Or are you just trying to impress me?” But Castiel ignores him and instead moves a chair from the perimeter of the room closer to where Dean is chained and sits down.

“Dean, your brother wishes to restore your humanity. Is that a desire that you share?”

“Hell, no!” Dean responds, “This might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” Castiel had known what to expect, but it was still difficult to accept that Dean Winchester, the righteous man he had raised from perdition, was no longer human.

“And why is that?” He asks calmly.

“Are you kidding?” Dean asks, “I finally get to do what _I_ want. No more _saving people._ No more worrying about saving the world or any of that shit. Why was that ever my responsibility in the first place?” Dean asks. The he blinks and flicks his eyes to black. “Plus, these are kinda sexy, don’t you think?” Castiel looks away from Dean and waits a few moments before looking back and responding.

“Dean, this process is going to be very painful, and it is going to take place whether you like it or not,” Cas pauses, thinking about the best way to proceed, “but in order for it to be fully effective, you are going to have to trust me.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I have done this before. _We_ have done this before.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asks, genuinely confused. Cas sees that he has piqued Dean’s curiosity, which is just what he needs.

Dean does not remember the actual first time that he met Cas, after being pulled from the Pit but before being returned to his shallow grave, but Castiel certainly does.

 

~~~

 

_Six years earlier._

Castiel’s wings struggled to carry the weight of both himself and his new charge upward, away from the Pit. The angel was injured, but he had completed the most dangerous part of his mission successfully. The soul of Dean Winchester, original inhabitant of the true vessel of the archangel Michael, was no longer a prisoner in hell.

_Flap, flap._

A searing pain spread through Castiel’s left wing with every stroke. One of Alastair’s guards had attacked him with some kind of hook-shaped weapon. The wound would quickly heal in heaven, near the source of his grace, so he pressed on and ignored the discomfort.

_Flap, flap._

The angel looked down toward Dean, who he held tightly in his right hand. Mercifully, he appeared to be unconscious. He was covered in scars inflicted in hell. He would no doubt also benefit from a respite in heaven before being returned to his body.

_Flap, flap._

As they neared the boundary between heaven and earth, the angel began to feel that something was not right. He was being pulled, or rather, pushed backwards. The warding around the walls of heaven was rejecting Dean’s soul.

Castiel had known that Dean had agreed to torture other souls in hell in order to quell his own suffering. Dean’s decision had broken the first seal to Lucifer’s crypt. It was why Michael needed his vessel returned to earth in the first place. The apocalypse was on it’s was to fruition, and apparently Dean’s decision had also damaged his soul to a much greater extent than Castiel had expected.

Unable to enter heaven, where he had hoped to heal both himself and his charge, Castiel turned back toward earth. His refuge of second choice was a small cabin in the mountains of Colorado. It was summer, so the cabin’s owners wouldn’t be using it for skiing trips anytime soon. Castiel had spent time in that very cabin a few years prior when he had argued with one of his superiors in heaven and had been banished to earth for a few weeks as punishment.

_Whoosh._

With Dean deposited safely on the bed in the cabin’s only bedroom, Castiel ventured out again to collect Dean’s body and to re-inhabit his own earthly vessel. It would be much safer and less confusing for Dean to see him in that form. Healing Dean’s soul after rejoining it with his body would not be ideal, but the unforeseen circumstances had required him to adapt his plans. These tasks accomplished, Castiel returned to Dean, letting his grace begin to heal his injured wing along the way.

Now that he was able to examine him more closely, Castiel could clearly see the damage that had been done to Dean’s soul in hell. The glory of the righteous man had been tarnished and scared by what must have seemed like decades of torture to Dean. Still, Castiel could see the beauty behind the layers of blood and grime. These were superficial issues, really, and could be easily corrected by Castiel’s grace. What was much more concerning was Dean’s rejection by heaven.

Dean’s choice to begin torturing other souls had begun to eat away at his humanity. Dean had already begun the process of transitioning from human to demon. Castiel was not surprised, as this was the inevitable fate of any soul damned to hell. He had been told that Dean had agreed to torture other souls, but Castiel had not known how many souls his charge had tortured or how demon-like he had become. This was exactly why Castiel had urged Uriel to let him rescue Dean sooner. If they angel’s had been paying closer attention, they could have avoided the breaking of the first seal altogether. Heavenly politics had always been a source of great frustration for Castiel.  

The process of repairing Dean was beginning to look like a much more complex and arduous task than Castiel had originally anticipated. Upon returning to the cabin, Castiel worked on preparing Dean’s body. He healed the fatal wounds that had been inflicted by the hellhounds that had come to earth to claim Dean’s soul. The smaller scratches, bruises, and scars were left untouched for now. Castiel returned Dean’s soul to his body. He watched as the handprint on Dean’s shoulder from when he had touch Dean’s soul in his true form burned through his body. He remained marked by the angel.

The next step, restoring Dean’s humanity, would be much more difficult. He worked on gathering the necessary supplies while he waited for Dean to wake up.

It was after nightfall when Dean finally opened his eyes. He drowsily looked around the room for a moment, perhaps taking in the wood paneling and dated maroon carpet. Then his eyes settled on Castiel. Panicking, Dean sat up and began searching for something to use as a weapon.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said.

“Who the _hell_ are you?” Dean asked, still panicked.

“My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.” If anything, Dean looked more afraid.

“An _angel_? There’s no such thing,” Dean said with confidence. Not finding any better weapon options, Dean grabbed the lamp on the bedside table and threw it at Castiel. The angel stopped the object midair and gently returning it to the table. “Jesus Christ!” Dean exclaimed. He swung his legs off of the bed and attempted to stand up. Dean felt incredibly dizzy and weak, so he decided to sit back down. Escape was not an option, at least not for the time being.

“I do not understand what He has to do with any of this,” Castiel said, “But please refrain from breaking the objects here, they do not belong to me.”

“This has got to be some kind of hallucination or something that Alastair set up to screw with my head,” Dean concluded. “Angel, my ass!”

“I rescued you from hell, Dean. You do not have to worry about Alastair. At least not while you are here.”

Dean looked around the room again, thinking.

“Where are we?”

“Colorado,” Castiel replied. “I prepared a place in heaven for you to heal, but we were kept from entering.”

“Why?”

“You need to be healed… in a different manner than I had expected.”

“What do you mean, ‘in a different manner’?”

Castiel pondered how to best answer Dean’s question. He decided that it might be easiest to show him. Dean was a hunter, he would understand. The angel grabbed a bottle of water from the top of the dresser where he had been stationing his supplies. He explained what it was to Dean and held it out to him, silently asking him to touch it.

Dean reached out and slowly lowered a finger into the open mouth of the bottle. He felt an intense burning sensation as soon as he touched the liquid and immediately recoiled.

“No,” Dean whispered, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, no!” He buried his face in his hands.

Castiel was relieved to see that Dean was still human enough to regret what he had become. It would make fully restoring his humanity much easier. Moved by Dean’s emotional response and a desire to comfort his charge, Castiel sat down on the bed next to Dean and hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder.

Dean looked up and recoiled from the touch. Castiel persisted, allowing the power of his grace to spread over Dean. He removed the dirt and dried blood from Dean’s skin and healed his many scars, except for his own handprint on Dean’s other shoulder. For some reason, he liked the idea of leaving a mark on his charge. Dean felt a warm, tingling sensation spread across his skin has he was healed.

“Dude… _what_?” Unsure of what Dean was asking or how to answer, Castiel squinted his eyes and tilted his head while removing his hand from Dean. “So is that it, am I ‘healed’ now or whatever?” Dean asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” responded Castiel, “Your soul still retains its partly demonic character. It will take time to heal that.”

“Oh,” muttered Dean as he looked back down toward his lap in shame.

“I promise that I will heal you, Dean,” said Castiel, “And I will return you to your former life as soon as possible.” Dean gave a single nod in reply. Castiel knew that it was foolish to make such a promise. Healing a demon with angel grace was possible, but it was an extremely painful and risky procedure. “How are you feeling?” Castiel asked.

“Tired, I guess,” answered Dean. He neglected to mention that he was also feeling incredibly ashamed and confused. Here he was, a man that had agreed to torture other people just so he would get a reprieve, and an _angel_ had rescued _him_ from hell. It didn’t make any sense. He didn’t deserve to be saved.

“Then perhaps you should rest, and we will begin your healing in the morning,” Castiel suggests.

“Yeah, sure Cas,” Dean replied. He didn’t really notice that he had just given the angel a nickname, but Castiel did. The familiarity of it gave him reason to hope that Dean felt comfortable with him.

Castiel stood up and touched two fingers to Dean’s forehead. In an instant, his jeans and button-down were replaced with a soft white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. Dean looked up at him, dumbfounded once more. Castiel remained standing near the bed as Dean settled in. He then turned off the ceiling light without moving an inch.

“What, are you just going to stare at me all night?” Dean asked.

“Angels do not require sleep,” Castiel proclaimed. “I will watch over you.”

This was followed by an awkwardly long pause.

“Ugh… Cas, that’s a little creepy, dude,” Dean finally explained.

“Oh, am I making you uncomfortable, Dean? I apologize. I will wait outside.” The angel did not wait for a response before exiting the room.

Castiel stood just outside the closed bedroom door and listened to Dean fall asleep. His breathing slowed to an even pace and remained so for several hours. In the stillness, Castiel heard his brother Uriel calling out to him in his mind.

“Castiel, report!”

“I was unable to enter heaven, but my charge is safe. He will require further healing that we anticipated,” Casitel replied.

“Be careful, Castiel,” warned Uriel, “the Winchesters can be dangerous.”

“I will.”

“Return him to his grave as soon as possible, and make sure that he remembers none of this.”

“Affirmative.” Casitel did not understand why Uriel insisted that the Wincesters would be easier to manipulate if Dean did not remember being saved and healed, but he had little choice in the matter.

“And please, for the love of all that is holy, try not to become attached to him,” Uriel added in an accusatory tone.

“I will be fine, Uriel,” Castiel snapped curtly.

Suddenly, Castiel heard Dean’s breathing quicken. He tossed and turned as well, making Castiel wonder if Dean had woken up or if he was dreaming. He sensed that Dean’s heart rate was elevated; he was afraid. The angel decided to open the door.

Dean was asleep, but clearly in distress. He was muttering incoherently, though Castiel could make out the words ‘no’ and ‘Sam’.

 

_Alastair grinned maniacally as he praised Dean for his work on the cut-up, whimpering former human chained to the rack in front of them. It made Dean sick to his stomach. ‘Oh, come on Dean, don’t pretend like you didn’t love every second of it!’_

_That’s what was worse. Dean did enjoy torturing the other souls. And admitting that, even if it was only in his own thoughts, made him sick._

_‘I’ve got another treat for you!’ Alastair boasted, ushering him through a door into another room among the seemingly endless complex that was Alastair’s personal torture chamber. It was all part of Dean’s routine now that he had been taken off of the rack himself. But the soul in the next room was anything but predictable. Mere feet in front of him, chained to the rack, was his brother, Sam._

_‘No!’ Dean screamed, turning to punch Alastair square in the jaw. This couldn’t be happening. Sam could NOT be in hell. The whole reason Dean was in hell was to keep Sam alive. Dean dove forward and desperately tried to unchain Sam. ‘Sam! I’m gonna get you out. You gotta run!’_

_But Dean couldn’t free Sam before being restrained by three of Alastair’s henchmen. ‘Not willing to play ball with this one, Dean? Well, maybe it will be just as fun to watch.’_

_Dean screamed, kicked, and clawed at the guards holding him back, but it was no use. Dean closed his eyes as Alastair began dragging his blade down the side of Sam’s face, cutting him deeply._

_‘No, no, Dean. Keep your eyes open!’ Alastair commanded, turning the blade on dean and leaving three slash marks down the side of his left forearm as punishment._

_Dean watched as Alastair carved shallow, but incredibly painful gorges into Sam’s abdomen. Sam screamed and cried, and…_

“Dean,” Castiel said calmly, “Dean, wake up.” Cas placed a hand on Dean’s arm, and he jolted awake, knocking Castiel’s hand away defensively. He continued to breathe heavily.

“Cas,” Dean panted.

“I’m sorry to startle you, but you were having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, yeah I guess I was.” Dean looks down at his left arm. There are no scars there, but there were just hours ago, before Casitel had healed them. Three slash marks, evenly spaced. He remembered looking at them each time he woke up from that nightmare in hell. They were proof that it was more memory than nightmare. Sure, it hadn’t really been Sam; just someone made to look like him. But the images had been real enough.

Castiel wanted to comfort Dean, but does not know what would be appropriate in this situation. It was times like these when Castiel wished he had paid more attention in his human relations training.

“Are you alright? Is there anything I can do?” the angel asked, sitting down on the bed once more.

“No, no there’s not,” Dean said, rolling over to turn his back to Castiel. “Don’t look at me like that; I don’t deserve your sympathy.”

“It’s not your fault, Dean,” responded Castiel, “Every soul in hell will eventually make the same choice you did. It is only a matter of time.”

Dean wanted to believe him. He really, really did.

“Perhaps I should stay with you?” Castiel asked, “Would that be alright?”

Dean considered the offer. The angel guy seemed sincere, and if he was being honest with himself, Dean was afraid of being left alone again.

“Ok,” whispered Dean.

 

~~~

 

“Yes, you heard me right, Dean,” states Castiel mater-of-factly. “You and I have done this before. You just don’t remember it.”

Dean eyes Cas, trying to discern what sort of game Cas is playing.

“And if you let me inject you with 5 cc’s of angel grace, I will elaborate,” Castiel adds, drawing his mouth into a firm, defiant line.

“Let me guess, you’re going to do that anyway, but if I cooperate, you’ll tell me what in the hell you’re talking about?” asks Dean. Castiel stares at Dean rather than answering verbally. “Yeah, ok fine.” Castiel releases the breath he had been holding. It had been surprisingly easy to con Dean into agreeing to the injection. Much like entering a vessel, angel’s needed consent to attempt to cure a demon. And with a demon that did not want to be cured, this could be incredibly tricky.

“I apologize in advance, Dean, this is going to be rather unpleasant,” Castiel warns as he takes one of the syringes he had acquired from Sam, finds a vein in his arm, and withdraws a portion of his grace.

“Whatever,” Dean mutters as he offers Castiel his arm. He winces as the grace is injected, then cries out. “Ah! Damn it Cas, it… BURNS! _Fuck_!” To Dean, it feels like his arm has been set on fire from the inside. The sensation spreads upward, toward his chest.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas says. “It will probably burn for a few hours.” Neither says anything for a few moments, and Dean suffers silently.

“We had a deal, Cas,” Dean reminds him.

“Right, yes,” Castiel begins, “I said that we had done this before because I had to do this to you when I pulled you out of hell.”

“Why? Why would you need to make me human? I wasn’t a demon then.”

“No, but you were well on your way to becoming one, Dean.” The realization of why that might have been hits dean like a ton of bricks. He remembers how going to hell and becoming a demon was once his greatest fear. He feels like his chest is being crushed, and not from the angel grace burning inside of him.

“Oh,” Dean mutters. After a pause, he asks, “But why don’t I remember that, Cas?” Dean’s tone of voice gives Castiel hope. He sounds almost like the Dean he’s always known.

“Maybe I will tell you that after your second injection tomorrow morning.”

Dean groned in response. Castiel left the room and remembered to lock the door behind him. Dean was still chained to the floor, but there was no sense in taking any chances. He found his way to the library, sat down in one of the Men of Letters’ leather chains, and let his mind wander.

It had been years since Castiel had stopped hoping that Dean might ever remember what occurred in that cabin in Colorado six years ago. And now he is offering to tell Dean the story. It feels incredibly risky, but he knows that it may be the only way to successfully fix Dean. He just doesn’t know how to best play his next move. Dean had asked why he didn’t remember. Would Castiel tell him that Uriel had forbidden it? That his memory had been wiped in an effort to manipulate him? Or would he tell Dean the truth?

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Sam and Crowley having a chat about blood addiction.

 

As Sam works to prepare the summoning spell, he thinks about the last two times he’s tried to summon Crowley. He’d had the same goal both times, and he supposes that he still has that same goal now, _fix Dean_. Sam hopes that he won’t be faced with a repeat of that first attempt, when he tried to summon Crowley, and instead of showing up, the guy had practically kidnapped his now-demon brother. The second time, which was yesterday, had been much more fruitful. Appealing to Crowley’s semi functional conscience and loyalty to contractual obligations, Sam had convinced Crowley that he had not been upfront with Dean about the terms and conditions when he had accepted the Mark of Cain. The deal hadn’t been fair, and Crowley knew it. But Sam wasn’t sure that the King of Hell’s sympathy would extend to today.

Sam lights a match and tosses it in the bowl along with the spell’s ingredients. He’s painted a giant devil’s trap that takes up the entire floor of the supply closet. He waits patiently for a few moments, and then begins to think that he’s been stood up again.

There is a knock on the door behind him.

“You really need to think outside the box, Moose,” Crowley says after Sam opens the door and steps outside.

“I need you to tell me everything you know about the Mark of Cain,” demands Sam, “Specifically, how to remove it.”

“And why would I do that, exactly?” Crowley asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Because you know it’s the right thing to do,” Sam offers, “Because you screwed Dean over and now you’re going to help me fix him.”

“I already brought him back to you, Moose. That was our deal. What makes you think that I feel obligated to help you more than I already have?” asks Crowley. He thinks for a moment, then adds, “Unless there’s something in it for me, I suppose.”

Sam smirks. It was worth a shot. But Sam has a backup plan.

“Fine. I am, in fact, willing to compensate you for your trouble.”

“I’m listening,” Crowley says.

“You’re a junkie, Crowley,” Sam begins, pulling a syringe of blood out of his pockets, “And I’ve got the good stuff.” It is an incredibly risky play. Sam knows that Crowley is addicted to human blood, and he has an inkling that the King of Hell might particularly enjoy the taste of Sam’s blood. But it is an educated guess at best. And if Sam is right and Crowley gets hooked on his blood, that might be bad news too. But that was another problem for another day.

“Do you think I don’t have my own supply?” Crowley sounds mildly offended.

“I’m sure you do. I’m sure you go through gallons of the stuff. But it’ll never be as good as that first fix,” concludes Sam. “I know, man, I’ve been there.”

Crowley stares at the syringe, reevaluating his options.

“This will never be quite as good, but it’s the same stuff. It’s the blood that turned you almost human in the first place. This stuff is your top shelf, and I’m the only way you can get it.”

“The Mark of Cain, you say?”

“Yeah. How do we get rid of it?”

“You can’t just _get rid of it_ ,” scoffs the demon king. “It was made using very powerful black magic. It was given to Cain by Lucifer himself. There’s your answer, now give me the blood.”

“Not good enough. Cain gave it to Dean, so it can be transferred to another person?”

“Yes. But I really don’t know how it works. Now give me the damn blood!” Crowley demands. Sam hands over the syringe. Crowley injects the blood into his arm, closes his eyes for a moment, and moans. Sam really wishes he hadn’t seen (or heard) that.

“There’s more where that came from if you tell me where to find Cain.”

“I’ll do you one better, Moose. I’ll take you right to him. My price is three of those syringes,” Crowley offers. “But I should warn you, the man really doesn’t enjoy having visitors.”

“It’s late; we should go tomorrow,” Sam decides. “Meet me outside the Pizza Hut on Ninth Street in Salina at two o’clock.”

Crowley nods, and then disappears.

Sam heads to the library, intending to check and see if the Men of Letters had cataloged any information on the Mark. When he walks in, he sees Castiel. The angel is staring off into space, lost in his own little world again.

“Hey, Cas, how’s it going with Dean?” he asks.

“Dean is being very difficult, but I was able to get him to agree to the first injection.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Bribery and deception,” Castiel answers nonchalantly.

“Ok,” Sam says. He’s not sure that he wants to hear any further explanation. “So get this, apparently my blood is Crowley’s drug of choice.” Cas squints his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. “But he didn’t know much about the Mark. So he’s going to take me to see Cain tomorrow.” Cas seems to snap back to reality when he hears Cain’s name.

“Beware of Cain, Sam,” he says, “He is one of the most ruthless creatures ever created. I would not be surprised if he is unwilling to help us.” Sam nods in agreement. After a few moments, Castiel’s thoughts drift away from Sam and the Mark of Cain. He still hasn’t decided how much of the truth he will tell Dean in order to bribe him into accepting the angel grace injections. Instead of reweighing the pros and cons and trying to imagine Dean’s possible reactions, he lets his mind wander back to pleasant memories. He thinks about tacky maroon carpeting, handmade floral quilts, and the Dean Winchester he once knew, if only for a short time, in a cabin in the Rocky Mountains.

 

~~~

 

When Dean opened his eyes the next morning, Castiel was laying about four inches in front of him, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. Dean’s breath hitched and he had to take a moment to remember what had happened the previous day, where he was, and why there was a dude lying next to him.

Castiel turned his head toward him and said, “good morning, Dean.”

Angel or not, Dean couldn’t get over the fact that he was lying in a bed with _a guy_. A guy who had asked if he could stay there sometime during the night and Dean had said _yes_. It was beyond weird. Not to mention that Dean would still be in hell if it hadn’t been for Castiel. But that was a whole other thing.

“How are you feeling? Are you hungry?” Castiel asked. He applauded himself for remembering that humans need to eat. Three times a day! Maybe he wasn’t so bad at human relations after all.

“Umm, I’m ok, I guess,” Dead answered, “but, ugh, I could probably use a pit stop,” Dean admitted as he rolled over, swung his legs off the side of the bed, and sat up. In the blink of an eye, Cas appeared on Dean’s side of the bed, standing before him.

“I do not understand that reference.”

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean exclaimed. “I need to go take a piss, ok?”

“Oh!” Perhaps he had spoken too soon about being good at human relations. “The bathroom is right next door. I could fly you there, but this might also be a good opportunity to practice walking,” Castiel said, extending his hands to help Dean stand up. Dean grabbed on to the top of Cas’s forearms, near the elbow, and pulled himself up. Castiel held onto the underside of Dean’s arms and helped to steady him as they began walking.

“So when you just appear like that, that’s you flying?” Dean asked as they slowly trudge toward the door.

“Yes,” Castiel answered.

“I don’t get why I’m so weak. I thought you fixed me or whatever.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your muscles, Dean. They just haven’t been used in months.” As Castiel walked out of the room backward, Dean caught his first glimpse of the rest of the cabin. The bedroom opened to a small living area that contained a couch, a lay-z-boy, and a television that looked like it was probably made in the late 1980’s. There was another doorway on the left side of the room that appeared to lead to a kitchen. The wood paneling continued throughout the small space, though the unsightly maroon carpet seemed to be exclusive to the bedroom.

They made there way into the nearby bathroom. Dean let go of Cas’s arms and grabbed onto the countertop to steady himself. “Thanks,” he muttered, hoping that Cas would take the hint.

“You would like me to wait outside?”

“Yeah, that would be good,” Dean affirmed. Castiel stepped back and closed the door behind him. A few minutes later, Dean emerged. Feeling a bit too confident in his legs’ ability to function properly, he stepped forward without holding on to the doorframe. He took two steps before slipping on the hardwood floor. Dean reached forward as he started to fall and managed to grab onto Castiel’s shoulders.

The angel attempted to support Dean by putting his hands on Dean’s waist, but it wasn’t enough. Dean was taller and weighed more than Castiel’s vessel, and the fall had taken him by surprise. He took a step backward, but Dean’s forward momentum was still too great, and Castiel had to use his wings to keep them both from falling over. He decided that it would be safest to transport them back to the bedroom at the same time.

_Flap._

In the blink of an eye, Dean found himself falling forward onto Cas, who was now lying flat on the bed. Their bodies collided, as Dean was too stunned to even attempt to catch himself. Their faces ended up mere centimeters apart. It occurred to Castiel that it would be very easy lift his head ever so slightly and kiss Dean, but he quickly see the panic in the human’s eyes and banished the thought.

Dean pushed himself up and rolled off of Cas. “I’m so sorry,” Dean stammered, “That was totally my fault. I…” _did not mean to almost kiss you_ , he stopped himself from saying.

“That’s alright, Dean,” said Castiel, “Are you hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Dean gave his limbs a cursory examination. Once he determined that nothing seems out of the ordinary, his eyes darted around the room. “Ok, how did we get here?”

“When it became inevitable that we were going to fall over, I flew us here so that we would land on the bed rather than the floor,” Castiel explains as he sits up and turns to face Dean.

“You keep talking about flying, but it seems more like teleporting or something to me.”

“I use my wings to fly; it is not some form of science fiction.” When Dean narrowed his eyes in disbelief, Castiel flapped his wings a few times without actually moving so that Dean could hear the sound.

_Flap, flap_.

“So are they, like, _invisible_?” Dean asked as he felt the slightest of breezes stroke his skin.

“They are part of my true form, so they are not visible in this plane of reality.”

“What do you mean, true form?”

“This body is my vessel. What you see is not my actual visage.” Castiel recognized that Dean was beyond bewildered at that point, and decided to change the subject. “Are you hungry, Dean?” he asked again, remembering that he hadn’t gotten an answer to that question the first time.

“Um, not really,” Dean answered. He was human enough to sleep, but still demon enough to not feel hunger.

“Then I think that we should begin your treatment now, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Castiel stood up and walked over to the neatly arranged pile of supplies on top of the nearby dresser. He opened the box of syringes and began filling one with his grace. Dean stared at the glowing blue fluid. Suddenly, he started to question his trust in Cas. He barely knew the guy, and he had strange magical powers that Dean had never seen or heard of before. But on the other hand, if Cas was trying to kill him or something, he could have easily done so hours ago. Then Dean remembered the holy water incident from the previous night. Dean had done terrible, unspeakable things in hell. Things that had started to make him into a demon. And if there was a chance that Cas could fix that, it was a chance that he had to take.

“This is a piece of my grace,” Castiel explained, “It is what makes me an angel. It will work to counteract the scaring on your soul.”

“So angel plus demon equals human?”

“In a way, yes.” Castiel walked back to the bed. “I have been told that this may be extremely painful.”

“Been there, done than, Cas.”

Castiel nodded. “May I?” he asked, motioning to Dean’s arm.

“Go ahead,” said Dean. Cas injected the blue stuff into his vein, and Dean immediately felt an excruciating burning sensation spread throughout his body. “ _Fuck!_ ” he muttered. His heart raced and his breathing became labored until eventually Dean passed out. Castiel deemed that this was likely because Dean’s body was still so weak. He also decided that it would probably be better for Dean this way, since he would not have to consciously suffer through all of the pain.

Castiel watched over Dean, though he was unsure of whether or not his charge would have wanted him to do so. He hoped that he hadn’t made Dean too uncomfortable with the near-kiss experience. And he _really_ hoped that Dean hadn’t picked up on what he had been thinking in that moment. Perhaps Uriel had been right about Castiel being too easily attached to those in under his protection. At times like these, Castiel felt like a sorry excuse for a seraph.

Dean woke up about two hours later. “Hey, Cas,” he called to the angle who was across the room, staring out the window. “Sorry I conked out on you,” he added.

“That’s alright, Dean. Are you still in pain? Are you hungry?”

Dean still felt a dull ache throughout his body, but chose to ignore it. For the first time in a very long while, his stomach felt markedly empty. “I could go for a burger or something.”

The afternoon and evening that followed still ranks among one of Castiel’s favorite days ever. Castiel flew to a diner in a nearby town and ordered Dean a bacon cheeseburger and a side of fries (with no salt). Dean had started to feel much better after the first injection, and elected to eat his lunch in the living room. He declared the hamburger to be the best he’d ever tasted and even tried to persuade Castiel to try a bite. He politely explained that angels don’t sleep _or_ eat. In a cabinet next to the fireplace, Dean discovered VHS tapes of Star Wars, episodes IV, V, and VI. He was astonished to learn that Cas had never seen them. And lo and behold, there was also a VCR attached to the dinosaur of a TV. They watched all three, and Castiel let Dean explain who all of the characters were and what was going on, which Dean thoroughly enjoyed despite Castiel’s frequent assertions that there was ‘no such galaxy far, far away’. When Dean told Castiel that he didn’t want anything for dinner, Castiel couldn’t tell if Dean’s full appetite hadn’t returned, or if he was just too engrossed in the movie to care about eating.

The grace injections could be given as often as every twelve hours, but Dean seemed to be having such a pleasant evening that Castiel did not have the heart to interrupt. It could wait until morning.

After the credits begin to roll on episode VI, Cas helped Dean get ready for bed. “Would you… um, will you stay with me?” Dean asked, “In case I have another nightmare, I mean?”

“Of course,” was Castiel’s answer.

The angel couldn’t help but smile when Dean grabbed on to his arm while he slept and rested his cheek on Castiel’s shoulder. It made him sad to think that Dean would not remember any of this after being returned to his grave in a few short days. But Cas would get to keep these memories, and he would treasure them always.

 

~~~

 

Dean spends the first few hours of the night in agony, and questions whether his flesh might actually melt off of his bones from the burning within him. Angel grace is some pretty powerful stuff, apparently. The pain eventually subsides, however, and he is left with only him thoughts to occupy him. He wonders if Crowley might try to bust him out at some point, but then he remembers that Crowley doesn’t even know where the bunker actually is. If he is getting out of here before Cas turns him all the way human again, he is going to have to make a break for it himself.

Then again, Cas does have him very curious about the supposed ‘last time we did this’ thing. He suspects that the story is just a rouse to get him to cooperate, but Dean doesn’t actually remember being rescued from the Pit or being put back in his grave. So it’s possible, in theory. And he does remember torturing other souls in hell, and it seems logical that that would start to turn a guy toward the dark side. Besides, the story seems pretty random for Cas to have just made it up out of thin air. He decides to give Cas at least one more chance to explain himself before implementing his escape plan.

Eventually, Dean succumbs to boredom and begins counting the discolored splotches on the concrete floor. Upstairs, Cas is equally bored, but has many more distractions at his disposal.

At some point, Sam leaves the library and retreats to his bedroom for the night. Castiel remains, and peruses a book on the history of demons while he waits for daybreak. The text mentions the Knights of Hell, but the passage is not particularly enlightening.

Castiel checks the time and sees that it has been almost twelve hours since Dean’s first injection. He makes his way to the basement to assess his progress.

Dean stares at him coldly when he opens the door and steps inside of the pseudo prison. “How are you feeling?” Cas asks.

“Like I really don’t want to be here.”

“You don’t want to become human again?”

“Well, I don’t seem to have much of a choice, now do I?” It wasn’t an outright ‘no’, which was already a remarkable improvement in Cas’s eyes. Castiel almost thinks that he can see the real Dean looking back at him through the candy apple eyes that are currently staring back at him.

“I’m sorry that this process is painful for you, Dean,” he adds, “I would never wish that on you, not even now.” 

“Whatever,” Dean says, narrowing his eyes.  He decides to cut to the chase. “If this happened to me before, then why don’t I remember it?”

Castiel prepares the second injection silently. Then, he approaches Dean. He stares at him as if to say ‘you know the drill’. Dean smirks, but places his arm willingly on the table in front of him and nods. He inhales sharply as Cas pushes down on the plunger.

“You don’t remember because your memory was erased.”

“No shit, Cas! By who? Why?”

Castiel purses his lips. The ‘who’ he could answer; the ‘why’ is the complicated part.

“Zachariah,” Cas answers.

“Well, that figures,” says Dean. Zachariah was a grade-A douchebag. If Dean could kill the guy again, he would. And he would enjoy it, too. The Mark itches longingly at the thought. “God damn, this really hurts!” Dean slams his fist down on the metal table, then rests his head on top of his forearm, wincing.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Castiel leaves the room before giving Dean the opportunity to ask more questions. If he’s being truthful, Cas also leaves because he can’t stand to see Dean in so much pain, especially when he can’t do anything to help. He hadn’t lied to Dean, but he had deliberately avoided the ‘why’ of the question. Cas tells himself that he is saving that bit of information for later, but he’s not sure if he will ever be able to tell Dean _why_. What would he say? _Because Zachariah needed you to trust him and not me. Because I broke the rules. Because I fell in love with you._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Again, please leave comments; I love reading them! 
> 
> Look for things to get a bit more... intense in chapter 3.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this took so long to post; I'm terrible, I know. 
> 
> Warning for another Dean nightmare (italicized)

Dean hears footsteps approaching his tiny prison a mere two or three hours after Cas had left. He still feels the angel’s grace burning inside his veins. Certainly he would not inject him again, would he? But as the door opens, Dean sees not Cas, but Sam entering the dimly lit room.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says hesitantly.

Dean flicks his eyes to black in response. It is an act of defiance, but it is also a warning that Dean is not in the mood to be antagonized. Sam lets the door close behind him and crosses him arms in response.

“Cas said that it’s probably going to take a little longer before you start acting like yourself again, but I just wanted to see how you were doing,” Sam says.

“Oh, you want to know how I’m doing? I’m locked up in my own goddamn dungeon and I’ve been practically boiled from the inside out! Twice!”

“I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s what we have to do. I know that it’s what you would want if you were thinking straight.”

“You don’t know jack shit about what I want. What I feel,” Dean hisses.

Sam swallows hard, and then leans on the table in front of Dean. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re not my brother,” he declares, “And come hell or high water, I’m going to bring him back if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Is that so?” Dean asks, leaning in and meeting Sam’s gaze with his black eyes, “Because you’d be shit out of luck with that if you didn’t have Cas working for you.” Sam takes a step back. Dean wasn’t wrong. If this worked, they would both owe Castiel a considerable debt.

“I’m going to see Cain today to figure out how to get that thing off of your arm.” Sam looks down at Dean’s arm and sees that the area around the Mark is inflamed. Dean follows his gaze. The Mark has been yearning for its companion, the First Blade, ever since Sam and Crowley had taken it away from Dean. Even without its influence, Dean still feels the urge to stab someone, anyone, to death. It is difficult for Dean to remember what it felt like to not have those urges. And they had only intensified when he became a demon.

“Good luck with that,” Dean says sarcastically, “but I doubt he’ll be much help. Hell, he might even kill your sorry ass for disturbing his peace and quiet. He’d be doing me a favor.”

Sam knows that it isn’t really Dean talking, but the words still sting. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Sam says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Dean can hear the keys jingle ever so slightly inside of Sam’s jeans.

“You’re not taking my car, are you?” Dean asks. The face he gets in response says ‘yes’. “Don’t you touch my baby!”

“Dean, you’re the one who can’t touch the car right now, remember? You warded it against demons. Do you remember when demons were your worst enemy? When becoming one was your worst nightmare?” Sam backs up toward the door. “I just want you to remember the guy you used to be. I just want you to be my brother again.” The door clicks shut behind Sam, leaving Dean to stew in his own thoughts once again.

It isn’t that he doesn’t remember, Dean just chooses not to think about those things. He knows that this is not where he had wanted his life to end up. But he is a demon now, and reversing the process isn’t going to change the fact that this is what he let himself become. Sure, there is a certain freedom that comes with this life that Dean has never experienced before, but he knows that if he becomes human again, the guilt will be immense. That’s why he can’t let that happen. He would rather die. But thankfully, he has a plan.

A few hours later, it is about midday and Sam is long gone. Dean decided that it is time to put his plan into action.

“Cas!” he yells, “Cas, can you come down here?” He half expects the angle to appear in the room instantly. Cas always comes when he calls. Instead, he hears hasty footsteps on the stairs, then in the hallway.

“Is something wrong, Dean?” Castiel asks as he opens the door.

“No, no. I just… uh, I just wanted to talk to you,” Dean says, “I, um, wanted to apologize.” He gives Cas his best puppy dog eyes. He knows that Cas will eat it up.

“Oh,” Cas says, sounding genuinely surprised. He hadn’t expected to see such a change in Dean so soon.

“I said some things that I didn’t mean and I’m sorry, Cas,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “I wasn’t myself and I was rude and ungrateful and I’m sorry.”

“I am glad to hear you say that, Dean,” the angel responds.

“I guess those injections are working. Is it time for another?” Dean is pretty sure that he knows the answer to this question, and he’s asked for Cas’s benefit rather than his own.

“No, not yet,” Cas says, “They are most effective when given every twelve hours.”

“Oh, ok,” Dean acquiesces. “How’s this gonna work out for you? Isn’t your grace running on empty as it is?”

“I can’t be sure, but I expect that by the end of this process, we will both be human again.”

“Wow,” Dean says. He hadn’t actually thought about this until now. Cas is sacrificing everything for him yet again. And as usual, Dean feels that he does not deserve his kindness in the slightest. He tries to think of what the human part of him would say. He would probably thank Cas or tell him that he was being too selfless. But Dean the demon doesn’t really want to say those things, so he changes the subject. “Hey Cas, I don’t mean to be a pain, but I also kinda gotta pee. Do you think you could let me out of here for a few minutes?”

Castiel squints his eyes and attempts to evaluate the authenticity of this statement. He recalls the annoyance of needing to urinate from his short stent as a mortal. It is not something he is looking forward to experiencing again.

“I promise I’ll come right back. I want you to fix me, Cas, I just need to pee,” Dean declares. He deploys his saddest, most pleading eyes. “Please?” he adds.

 

~~~

 

In the early morning light, Castiel found himself staring at the sleeping man next to him. Dean’s soul shone bright as ever. Its light overshadowed and blurred the lines of his physical body. Castiel was in awe of him.

Dean remained pressed tightly against the angel’s side, clutching at his arm. Eventually, Castiel found himself absent-mindedly carding his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean appeared to be sleeping peacefully, as he had all night, but then Castiel saw that his eyes were tightly scrunched together. A few moments later, he noticed a tear running down Dean’s cheek.

 

_‘Do didn’t really think that any of it was real, did you?’ Alastair asked. They were back in hell and Dean was back on the rack. ‘An ANGEL? Really, Dean? I cannot believe that you bought that.’_

_It hadn’t been real. Of course it wasn’t real. He wasn’t being healed by an angel and he wasn’t on his way back to earth, back to Sam. Even if angels did exist, why would one ever want to save his sorry ass from the Pit?_

_‘You’re becoming one of my favorite chew toys, Dean,’ Alastair adds, dragging a sharp blade down Dean’s left arm. He winced at the pain, but he also knew that it was nothing compared to what was surely to come. ‘And you really liked him, too. I was surprised by that. I let your imagination run wild with designing your precious angel. You could have had the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen from some cheap strip club or dirty magazine, but no. Dean Winchester dreamed up a blue-eyed man with a five o’clock shadow.’_

_Dean’s eyes widened at Alastair’s speech. How could that be? Sure, Castiel was an attractive guy, that was true, but had he really been attracted to him in that way?_

_‘Well, Dean, none of it was real!’ Alastair laughed as he began cutting Dean arm again, horizontally this time. ‘But that doesn’t mean that we can’t keep having a bit of fun with this.’ Suddenly, Castiel appeared before him, his hands bound in chains._

_‘Dean!’ Castiel called to him. Alastair turned his knife on the angel, slicing his face and neck. Instead of blood, Dean could see the familiar glowing blue liquid, Castiel’s grace, beneath his skin. The angel cried out in pain, and the sound broke Dean’s heart._

_‘Stop!’ he screamed, though he knew it was pointless._

_‘Dean!’ Castiel yelled again…_

“Dean, wake up!” the real Castiel said.

“You’re real?” Dean asked, although he was fairly sure that he had only been dreaming after all. Cas nodded in response. “Oh my God, you’re real!”

It was then that Dean realized how closely he was pressed to Castiel, and that his left arm had fallen asleep. That explained why that arm had been cut in the dream.

“It was just a nightmare,” Castiel assured. “Are you alright?” he asked, reaching his free hand down to wipe the tears away from Dean’s face. He hoped that the intimacy of the gesture would not be inappropriate, given that Dean had been so happy to see him when he first woke up.

“Um, yeah, I just…” Dean let go of Cas’ arm and rolled off of his side and onto his back. “I’m sorry about invading your personal space there, Cas.”

“I don’t mind.”

 

A bit later, Dean slowly trudged his way to the bathroom, this time with his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and the angel’s arm around his waist. After closing the door behind him, Dean looked at himself in the small mirror, thankful for the privacy and the opportunity to collect his thoughts. The first thing he noticed was that his hair was matted and greasy. After deciding that he was steady enough on his feet for a quick shower, he stepped in and let the water wash away the sweat and the grime.

It was not surprising that his subconscious had played on his fear that his escape from hell and his new angelic friend weren’t real. What did surprise Dean was the fact that he had woken up crying about it. And the idea that he had dreamed up Castiel to be some sort of ideal companion, where had that come from?

Dean Winchester was strictly a ladies man; of that much he was certain. Sure, he sometimes admired other guys’ bodies, but that was just checking out the competition. And sometimes, they were really hot. Like that Dr. Sexy guy on that soap opera he sometimes watched while Sam was doing research for a case. Dean thought about Castiel’s rich blue eyes and his ruffled hair. Sure, he was pretty hot, too, but that didn’t mean that…

_Oh god_ , Dean thought as he realized that he was starting to get hard. He began palming himself, reasoning that it was better to take care of it now while his was alone in the shower. He came over his hand with a quite moan a few minutes later, still picturing Castiel’s face in his mind.

He’d just jerked off while thinking about a guy. So what?

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Well, if is father was still alive, _he_ might think it was. But the truth of it existed only in Dean’s thoughts, and no one needed to know.

As he was rinsing himself off, Dean noticed something on his left shoulder. It looked like a scar or a brand. It was very large, and Dean had no memory of acquiring it. After stepping out of the shower, he wiped away some of the condensation on the mirror to get a better look. It was a handprint, clear as day. Dean didn’t understand. Cas had wiped away every scar from every knife fight and monster brawl he’d ever been in just the other night. And yet, there it was, a handprint burned into his flesh.

Dean leaned on Cas on their return trip to the bedroom and tried not to think about what he’d just done in the shower and who he’d thought of while doing it. He concentrated so hard on not thinking about that that he forgot to ask about his mysterious scar. Dean sat down on the side of the bed and noticed a syringe of bright blue angel grace sitting on the bedside table.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dean said, offering Castiel his arm.

“Of course,” agreed Cas. Though hid consent was clear from his body language, Castiel still asked, “may I?” and waited for Dean to nod yes before injecting him. Dean closed his eyes and clenched his jaw in an attempt to not cry out from the pain. He was not successful.

“Fucking hell,” Dean muttered. He swung his legs up onto the bed and curled into a ball.

It wasn’t the kind of pain that Castiel could sooth or take away. His grace was useless in this situation. Ironically, it was his grace that was causing Dean’s pain. He wanted so badly to help his charge, to comfort that beautiful soul, but there was nothing he could do. Then Castiel remembered how Dean had reached out for him in his sleep. He seemed to crave touch and to find comfort in it.

Slowly, he placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean opened his eyes and looked at Cas as if something had just occurred to him. He brought his own hand up to his shoulder, causing Castiel to retract his. Dean pushed up the sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal the handprint scar. He looked at Cas questioningly.

Then angel placed his hand over the mark. “This was caused by my true form when I raised you from perdition,” said Castiel. “I… I can remove it if you would like.” He knew it had been selfish of him to leave his handprint unhealed, and now it felt like Dean was calling him out on it.

“No!” Dean gasped. He liked it, he really did. It was more unique than any tattoo he’d ever seen. And it was from Cas. “I want to keep it,” he said.

  
            Later that day, they sat on the couch in the small living room watching the six o’clock news while Dean ate a bowl of spaghetti-o’s he had found in the pantry. He thought of how Sam used to call them ‘gha-spetti-o’s’ when he was little, and the memory made Dean smile.

“Why did you rescue me, Cas?” Dean asked a few minutes later as he placed the empty bowl on the coffee table.

“It was the will of heaven,” answered Castiel. What he said was true, but he needed to be careful not to reveal too much. Dean was not to know that he was the vessel of Michael, not yet. Zachariah had been very clear about that.

“But why?” Dean persisted. “Why would _heaven_ give a shit about me?”

“Because you did not belong in hell.”

“But I did. I _do_. I sold my soul, Cas!” Dean exclaimed. “Not to mention all of the other crap I’ve done.”

“You did that to save your brother, and it was very noble of you,” said Castiel. He focused on Dean’s soul, which was even brighter now that he was more fully human. Dean was his charge, his responsibility. He had to make him understand his own self-worth. “You are a good person, Dean, a righteous man. I have seen your soul, and it is truly magnificent.”

He could tell by Dean’s expression that he still did not understand. He wished that he could show him, that he could let Dean see himself as Castiel saw him. But even if he could change Dean’s mind, he would not remember this conversation in a few day’s time.

He wouldn’t remember.

Dean would not remember Castiel at all, let alone this moment. It was heartbreaking, but it also gave Cas the opportunity to take a risk. He looked at Dean’s face, his human face. He focused on his piercing green eyes and the sprinkling of freckles below them. Castiel decided to act before he had the opportunity to second-guess himself.

Like a ship without an anchor, he leaned forward, placed his hand on Dean’s neck, and crashed their lips together.

The kiss was messy, and it took Dean a moment to even comprehend what was happening. He’d never kissed someone with stubble before. It was different, but it was nice. Cas backed away, but Dean didn’t let him get too far. He grabbed onto the collar of Cas’ trench coat and pulled him into another kiss.

This second attempt was slower and their lips aligned more properly. Castiel could taste every ingredient in Dean’s canned pasta dinner, down to the molecular level. This aspect wasn’t particularly pleasant, but the softness of Dean’s lips and his slightly elevated heart rate more than made up for it. His gamble had paid off, and Castiel could not remember feeling so happy any time in the past several thousand years. 

 

~~~

 

Dean’s ‘please?’ hangs heavily in the air and his pleading eyes go straight to Castiel’s heart. How could he say no to Dean, especially when he seemed so like his old self again? Dean’s request to use the restroom is also a positive sign that his humanity is returning. He decides to trust Dean and removes his shackles. But as soon as Castiel opens the door, Dean punches him square in the jaw and runs.

Dean laughs to himself as he bolts down the hallway and up the stairs. Cas is so gullible, especially for Dean, and it isn’t the first time he has taken advantage of that. But he isn’t sure whether or not he actually knocked Cas out, so he needs to find the Blade as soon as possible.

Castiel’s head smacks against the concrete floor, but he quickly scrambles to his feet. He cannot let Dean escape from the bunker. Sam would never forgive him. Dean is his charge once again, and he needs to protect him from himself. He considers flying to the first floor, but knows that he needs to conserve his dwindling grace. He does have one advantage; he knows where the First Blade is hidden.

But Dean is able to locate the weapon almost as easily. The Mark yearns for the Blade, and it burns hotter the closer he gets. It doesn’t take long to find the correct box in the storage area. As soon as Dean grips the hilt, he feels the Blade’s power surge through his body. He is overwhelmed by the urge to kill.

Castiel intercepts Dean in the bunker’s main living area. The Blade is already in his hand. They stand several feet apart. For a moment, time seems to stand still. Castiel knows that he is facing an indomitable force. With the help of the Mark and the Blade, Dean had easily killed Abbadon, one of the most formidable demons ever created. He was more than capable of overpowering a weakened angel. Castiel considers drawing his angel blade, but knows that it would be futile. And doing so would only serve to further antagonize Dean.

“Dean, please,” he begged. “This isn’t you.”

Castiel’s words stir something within Dean. The other side of him, the human part, is starting to fight back. It angers him, and he fights against it.

“If you can hear me, Dean, I need you to fight this,” Castiel urges.

The internal struggle within Dean continues. He tries to slash at Cas with the blade, but he is held back. Instead, he strikes with his left fist, hitting Castiel in the eye. He staggers backward, but remains standing.

“Shut up!” Dean screams. “shut up shut up shut up!”

Castiel turns to face him again, staring at him with a penetrating glare. “No,” he says. “I need you to fight this. I know you can.”

It isn’t that Dean is possessed. The demon within him cannot be expelled because he _is_ the demon. But he is still partly human, too, and that part has been somewhat strengthened by Castiel’s grace. The angel’s only hope is that he can call out to Anakin Skywalker enough times to disarm Darth Vader, if only for a moment.

“Sam needs you,” Cas continues, “ _I_ need you.”

Dean’s arm holding the First Blade begins to shake. He swings at Cas again, but this time, he ducks and avoids the punch.

“You once told me that we are family, Dean. I still believe that.”

Despite the sentiment, something snaps within Dean; Darth Vader is winning.

He lunges at Cas and throws him against the nearby wall. Castiel feels a sharp pain on the right side of his back. Dean pins him against the wall, yet by some miracle, the Blade remains at Dean’s side rather than at Castiel’s throat.

Castiel gasps for air. He has broken at least one rib, and it has punctured his lung. Dean backs off a bit, shocked by the extent of Cas’ injuries. Anakin remains.

“I… _I love you_ ,” Castiel whispers, still struggling for breath.

Dean’s eyes widen. The First Blade clatters to the floor.

Castiel is forced to use his grace to heal the rib and the tear in his lung before he suffocates. His facial injuries will have to heal on their own.

“Cas,” Dean whispers. “Oh, God,” he adds before running from the room. But he is not headed toward the front door or the garage. He is headed for the stairs.

By the time Castiel catches up to him, Dean has already reattached his own chains. He stands behind the metal table rather than sitting in the chair.

“Cas, I’m so sorry!” Dean says. “Are you ok? Can you breathe ok?”

“I’m ok,” he says, despite the fact that his right eye has started to swell shut. He checks to make sure that Dean’s restraints are secure, which they are. Anakin prevails, for now.

Dean looks him in the eyes and says, “Don’t let me out, no matter what I say. Not until you’re sure.”

Castiel nods, and then quickly leaves the room. He isn’t sure if Dean remembers what he said to make him snap out of his Vader self, but he certainly doesn’t want to talk about it if he does.

Cas returns to the library and sits in the same leather chair. He considers calling Sam, but decides against it. Sam should have his hands full with Crowley by now, and the two of them were probably on their way to Cain. Besides, the situation in the bunker was miraculously under control.

The hours tick by until it is time to give Dean another injection. Castiel hesitates behind the heavy door, unsure of which version of Dean he will encounter on the other side. Dean must be able to hear him hovering, because he calls out, “it’s still me, Cas, please come in.”

When he does open the door, he finds Dean seated with his arms folded on the table. His eyes are puffy and red.

Castiel prepares the syringe, and Dean extends his arm, ready to accept the injection.

After all of the grace had disappeared into Dean’s vein, Castiel disposes of the syringe and turns to leave. Before he is out of reach, Dean grabs Cas’ hand.

“Thank you,” says Dean, “for everything.”

Castiel sees the sincerity in his eyes. He recognizes the Dean he has always known ever since their time in Colorado.

“Of course,” he replies. Even though few words were spoken, they both said what they needed to say.

As Castiel trudges back up the stairs, he realizes just how incredibly tired he is. His own humanity is beginning to surface. He considers returning to the library, but instead heads toward the corridor of bedrooms. His original thought was to find one of the many unoccupied rooms, but he finds himself standing outside of Dean’s bedroom nonetheless.

The moment his head hits the pillow, he is engulfed by Dean’s scent. He detects grease of both the engine and fast food varieties along with Old Spice and something slightly sweet before falling fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REVERSE CRYPT SCENE! WHEW!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed; please tell me what you thought in the comments!


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh, come on, admit it!” Crowley taunts from the back seat of the Impala. “Somewhere deep down where you keep all of you secret thoughts and feelings, you’re relieved that Dean has become the black-eyed sheep of the family.”

“Shut up, Crowley!” Sam yells from behind the wheel. He’s starting to regret this road trip. Crowley had offered to zap them straight from the Pizza Hut parking lot to Cain’s driveway, but Sam didn’t trust demonic transportation. Besides, if he had left the car in Salina and something had happened to it, he would never have forgiven himself. But they were still somewhere in eastern Kansas, and at this rate, they’re probably going to hit afternoon traffic going through Kansas City.

“You’ve always been the screw-up, Moose. But not anymore,” continues Crowley. Sam furrows his brow. “What? Don’t give me that look. You know it’s true.”

“If you want your blood fix, I highly suggest you put a cork in it.”

Crowley shrugs and rolls his eyes. “Fine, be that way,” he says.

A few minutes later, the radio turns on, seemingly of its own accord. There is a bit of static, and then the refrain of Tom Petty’s “Don’t Do Me Like That” blares through the speakers. Sam fiddles with the nobs, but finds the same song on every station. He tries to turn the radio off, but no luck. He glares at Crowley in the rear-view mirror, but the King of Hell simple huts his eyes and leans back against the seat.

 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says with an eager look in his eyes when the angel returns to the dungeon the next morning. He sees that Castiel’s trench coat is heavily wrinkled and that his dark hair is a mess. His eye is also a grotesque purple-black color from the incident the day before, and there is a scabbed-over cut near his jaw. “You don’t look so good,” Dean admits.

“I must conserve my grace,” Cas explains. Dean nods. Cas is slowly becoming human, too, Dean recalls. Castiel eyes Dean questioningly. He still seems to be in control of himself, which is nothing short of a small miracle.

“Yeah, it’s still me,” Dean answers, reading the confusion in Cas’ stare. “Bruce Banner here. The other guy is still in time out.”

“Why? How?”

“Because I’m not going to let him hurt you again. Because…” _I love you, too_ , he can’t quite bring himself to say. “Because I think we need to talk.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Castiel asks sincerely.

“Oh, I dunno, maybe about what you said yesterday?” Dean erupts. “I tried to leave it alone and not bug you about it, but come on, Cas, you can’t just tell someone you love them and then pretend like it didn’t happen!”

Castiel sighs. Perhaps he had been naïve to think that this wouldn’t be an issue. “I do not understand why you were so shocked. I thought it was fairly obvious.”

Dean remains silent as Castiel prepares yet another syringe of his grace.

“Ever since I pulled you from hell, everything I’ve done, every choice I’ve made has been to protect you. Some of those choices were ill advised, I admit. I have made mistakes, but the intention was the same,” Cas says. “I rebelled against heaven for you! I waged war on my brothers and sisters to protect you!”

Castiel isn’t really angry, because he knows that Dean will never truly understand. He would give his life for Dean without so much as a second thought. But Sam is Dean’s priority. Saving other people is Dean’s priority. That had been the hardest thing for Cas to come to terms with after meeting Dean for the second time, after he crawled his way out of his shallow grave with no memory of his time with Castiel. There was always a new distraction for Dean, a new mission, something else to save the world from. Castiel is Dean’s friend and ally. They are family, they’d both agreed. But Cas would never be Dean’s priority. Not in the real world.

“I know, Cas, I know,” says Dean. It was true that Castiel had been making sacrifices for Dean since day one. Dean eyes the syringe in Cas’ hand. This is just another one of those many sacrifices.

What Dean doesn’t understand is what exactly Cas means by ‘love’. Why did he feel the need to help Dean? Was it a sense of duty? Familial love? Platonic affection?

Castiel pauses with the syringe at the ready, looking at Dean questioningly. Dean nods, holding out his arm. Cas finds a vein and presses down on the plunger. Dean winces, but it’s not as bad anymore, now that he knows what to expect. Cas turns to leave, but Dean’s not done asking questions.

“Wait,” he says, “don’t go.”

Castiel pauses and turns back toward Dean. He finds a chair near the edge of the room and pulls in up to the table. He sits down and looks back at Dean. His eyes, normally a vibrant sapphire color, appear rather dull.

“You really don’t look so good. Are you sure you’re ok?” asks Dean.

“I’m fine, just tired,” the angel admits.

“Tired? Are you _that_ human already?”

Castiel shrugs in response.

They continue the small talk for some time. Dean asks about Sam, and Cas reports that he hasn’t heard from him since he left to go find Cain the day before. Cas makes a mental note to call Sam and check in soon. Eventually, Dean finds the courage to revisit the touchy subject of the ‘I love you’.

“I’m not trying to upset you with this, ok, I’m just trying to understand,” he says. “When you said that you _love_ me, what did you mean by that exactly?”

Castiel takes a moment to consider how to best explain.

“In Enochian, there is only one word for love. It refers to the unconditional love that angels feel for God. It is the same love that he commanded us to feel for humanity,” Castiel begins. “In Greek, however, there are many different words for love. Philos is the fondness felt between friends and family members. Storgy is the love that a mother or father feels for their child. It is the love felt for someone who is dependent on you. It is, I think, the love you feel for Sam at times. Eros is strongly connected to emotion and passion. It is the love that lovers share. Agape is closest to the Enochian version of love. It is deep, selfless, unconditional love. It is the love between what humans call soul mates.”

Dean tries to listen and understand, because he can tell by Cas’ body language that he thinks this is important. But Dean asked for an explanation, not a linguistics lesson.

“I suppose I have loved you in all of these ways,” Castiel says. His feelings are mixed. It is a relief to finally admit this to Dean, but also knows that Dean won’t understand. And how could he, when he doesn’t remember…

Dean blinks hard, trying to process what Cas has said, what he has implied. He loved him like a lover? Like a soul mate? Then why did he never act like it? Where is that coming from? It doesn’t make any sense.

When he opens his eyes, these thoughts are overshadowed by the realization that something feels… different.

“Cas,” he says, “I don’t mean to change the subject, but uh,” he blinks several times to make sure, “I can’t change my eyes anymore. I can’t make them black.”

“That is a good sign, I suppose,” Castiel says, but he looks even more downtrodden, it that’s possible. He stands up and moves the chair back to its original location. Dean hadn’t understood at all, and now he felt uncomfortable being in the same room with him. This is exactly why he’d never said anything in the past. Dean didn’t understand, and how could he when there were so many moments that were significant to Castiel that Dean didn’t even remember. He feels embarrassed and devastated, and swiftly leaves the room.

“Cas, wait!” Dean calls after him. “I didn’t mean to… what I should have said is that I love you, too.” But by the time he makes it to the end of that disaster of a sentence, he’s barely whispering.

_I’m such a fucking idiot_ , Dean thinks to himself. He’s hurt Cas’ feelings. Again. And it is because for some reason, Cas has always had the ability to turn Dean into a bumbling idiot. He is always saying the wrong thing or doing something stupid when he’s around Cas. Dean acts more like an awkward teenager with Cas than the suave master of the one-night-stand that he usually is with women.

_Could have said it back yesterday. Or now. But, nope, had to be a dumbass about it. Probably ruined everything._

He doesn’t understand why those words have been so difficult to spit out, because he does love Cas. Of course he does. He just never let himself hope that an angel could love him back. Not in that way, at least. He’s never had the guts to make a move because he figured Cas would think it was wrong or be offended in some way. If he’s being honest, it’s really because it just never felt like the right time. That, or Dean is just a huge chicken who’s afraid of loosing his best friend. And now he feels like a total ass for not having the balls to say something sooner.

 

~~~

 

Dean leaned into Cas as they kissed, pushing him back onto the couch. He pressed his tongue against the angel’s lips, which opened in response. Their kisses were fast-paced and eager. Dean hungered for something he never knew he wanted. But God, he wanted it.

Castiel registered the change in his vessel’s heart rate and blood flow, but did not attempt to correct them. He was feeling things he’d never felt before. He wanted to experience this properly, as a human would. He wanted to feel what Dean was feeling.

It occurred to Castiel that they might be more comfortable on the bed, so he extended his wings and pulled them through another dimension and into the bedroom.

_Flap_.

Dean was startled by their sudden change in location. He pushed up away from Cas’ face to regain his bearings. He suddenly wondered if this was as new and different for Cas as it was for him. Was Cas gay? Can angels be gay? Do angels even have sex? How was he supposed to know these things? Hell, he didn’t even know that angels existed until the other day.

It’s then that Castiel reached his hand up to the back of Dean’s neck and gently pulled him down into another kiss. This one was slow and soft. He tried to reassure Dean that this was alright, that he wanted this, too.

Dean pulled away again, but only enough to speak.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, “You’re wearing way too many clothes.” He tugged at the sides of Cas’ tan trench coat to illustrate his point.

In the blink of an eye, Castiel remedies this situation, leaving only his boxers.

Dean marveled at the sight of his tanned skin and lean muscles as he reached behind his neck to remove his own shirt. He leaned back into Cas, skin on skin, and reconnected their lips a bit more fervently this time. He moved to kiss and suck at Cas’ neck, and then traced his tongue along his collarbone.

On an impulse, Castiel placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder, perfectly aligning it with the scar there. It was the first time he had touched the mark without the hindrance of Dean’s t-shirt. His grace began to hum at the contact. The handprint was a mark on Dean’s soul, and traces of Cas’ grace had probably been left behind there as well.

The tingling sensation on his skin stopped Dean in his tracks. Castiel took this opportunity to change the pace and take control. After all, he had intended to be the one worshiping Dean. He repositioned his hand slightly and pushed against Dean’s shoulder while pulling at his opposite hip. They rolled together, and then Castiel was on top of Dean.

“Your soul is so beautiful,” he said before beginning to pepper Dean’s neck and chest with kisses. And it truly was. Castiel noticed that Dean’s soul had never shone brighter, and he detected no hint of the darkness that had shrouded it before. He suspected that Dean was fully human again, but decided that testing that theory could wait until the morning.

Dean moaned when Cas finally ground their hips together. If only for a little while, it was as if nothing else mattered. His world was Cas and only Cas, and he never wanted it to end.

Later, when they were both fully naked and Castiel was nearly spent, he felt something building inside of him and warns Dean to close his eyes. A blinding light filled the room as the angel experiences a pleasure like nothing he had ever felt before. Once it faded slightly and Dean dared to open his eyes again, he saw the shadow of Castiel’s enormous wings filling up the room.

“Whoa,” Dean panted, still reeling from his own high.

Castiel pressed their foreheads together and breathed heavily as his wings slowly faded from view. He lay down next to Dean, who was starting to look very tired. Dean wrapped his arm around Castiel’s waist and pulled him closer. He wasn’t typically one for cuddling or any other touchy-feely chick flick type moments, but this was Cas, and holding onto Cas made him feel safe somehow.

“I rescued you because you are a good man, Dean,” Castiel said softly as he ran his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I want very badly for you to believe that.” He wasn’t sure how much of that Dean heard, though, because the next time he checked, Dean was already asleep.

Late into the night, Castiel heard his brother Uriel calling to him.

“Castiel, what is taking so long?” the other angel demanded.

“I just need a bit more time,” Cas answered.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but Zachariah is NOT happy with the delay.” Castiel wasn’t surprised. Zachariah was rarely happy about anything. “He wants the Winchester back in his grave by sundown tomorrow.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Castiel lied. Letting go of the man that was then rapped in his arms was going to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Not only that, but he was going have to erase every memory of himself from Dean’s mind. But orders were orders, and he would have to follow them whether he liked it or not.

 

~~~

 

“Sam Winchester,” Cain, the Father of Murder, says in greeting from his front porch. “After what happened, I had hoped that your brother would come to see me again. But I can’t say that I’m surprised to see you, either.”

Sam closes the car door and approaches the house. He is alone now, having told Crowley to beat it after they’d located Cain’s homestead late the previous night. They had both agreed that it was too late to bother the finicky original Knight of Hell and that Sam wouldn’t need any help finding the place again in the morning. Besides, Crowley had hoped to avoid another chat with Cain anyway, and Sam was happy to spend the night alone at the only motel in the tiny town somewhere to the east of Springfield, Missouri.

“You know about what happened to Dean?” Sam asks.

“I know that there is a new Knight of Hell in the world,” Cain explains with a shrug of his shoulders. “Please come inside; I’ll make some tea.”

Sam is ushered into a sitting room with a brick fireplace and a matching antique sofa and armchair. He spots a black and white photograph of a beautiful woman on the mantel. Cain’s wife, he assumes.

“So you knew that this was going to happen to him,” Sam accuses when Cain enters the room with a tray of tea and cookies, “And you gave him the Mark without even telling him.”

“I tried to warn your brother about the costs of carrying the Mark, but he wouldn’t listen,” Cain says. “He was adamant on killing Abbadon.”

“And why couldn’t you kill her yourself? Why did Dean have to do your dirty work?” Sam knows that Cain killed all of the other Knights of Hell back in the day, but Abbadon escaped. It sounds like unfinished business to Sam, and he wonders why Cain wouldn’t have _wanted_ to handle the bitch himself.

“The last time I faced Abbadon, she possessed my wife. In trying to kill Abbadon, I killed my Colette, and as she lay dying in my arms, she begged me to give up the Blade for a simpler, honest life,” Cain explains. “I could never break my promise to her. And had I touched the Blade again, I doubt that I would have been able to stop after just one kill.”

Sam nods. He knows how important it is to keep the promises you make to the people that you love. And Cain on a murderous rampage is probably not something that Sam and Dean would want to deal with.

There isn’t always an easy answer. There isn’t always someone to blame. Neither Sam nor Cain can change the past, so it’s time to focus on correcting the present.

“I need to know how to remove the Mark from Dean,” Sam declares.

“Even if that were possible, removing the Mark would not make him human again, Sam.”

“I know, but I’ve already got that part covered.”

Cain looks at him in disbelief. “The only escape from being a Knight is death at the hands of the one who wears the Mark and wields the First Blade. This is why I had hoped that your brother would return here. To kill me, as I asked him to.”

Sam pauses for a moment and considers how to proceed. Cain doesn’t seem to know about the angel grace cure, and Sam’s not sure that he should share that information freely. “So let’s just pretend that there is a way to make a Knight of Hell human again,” Sam proposes, “If the Mark was still there, they could become a demon all over again.”

“It would be inevitable. The Mark will not allow its bearer to die.”

“Then how do I get rid of it?” Sam repeats, staring Cain down.

“You are very stubborn, Sam,” says Cain. He takes a sip of his tea before continuing. “You remind me of my brother. You refuse to see the reality of your situation.”

“So you’re saying that there’s no way to remove it?”

“I tried for centuries. No, there is no way.”

“But it can be transferred to another person?”

“You would rather damn another person to Dean’s fate?” Cain asks. “Yourself, perhaps?”

Sam has considered accepting the Mark from Dean. If it became too much, they could pass it back and forth. But eventually one of them would die, and the other would be faced with an eternity as a Knight of Hell.

“Is that what Dean would want?” Cain presses.

“You became what you are to save your brother,” Sam retorts. He’s not really considering taking the Mark himself, at least not yet, but he wants to show Cain that he’s being hypocritical.

“I did what I did to save my brother from Lucifer, yes.”

“And Lucifer is the one that gave you the Mark.” Sam says this more to himself than to Cain. Lucifer created the Mark. Lucifer could take it away. “Thank you for your time,” he says to Cain as he stands up to leave. “It seems there isn’t anything you can do for me, so I’ll be on my way.”

It takes Cain a moment to process what has just happened, what Sam has interpreted from his words. He knows that it would be pointless to try and stop Sam. Just like Abel, once he has an idea in his head, he will follow through with it.

“Don’t do anything stupid!” he calls to Sam through the screen door, though he knows that the warning is probably pointless. Sam looks back and presses his lips into a thin, determined line, but says nothing in response a he climes into the Impala.

He knows that it’s a long shot, but he also knows that he has to try. He has to fix Dean.

And so Sam and the Impala make their way back toward the place where it all began, Lawrence, Kansas.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's starting to get real, guys, so brace yourselves for chapter 5! 
> 
> Please leave me a comment with feedback and/or tell me what you think is going to happen next!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry that this has taken me so long to write, but I wanted to get it right. I promise that chapter 6 will come sooner rather than later. 
> 
> No warnings for this chapter save for the usual swearing and needles/syringes.

Somewhere around midday, Dean hears Castiel shuffling around upstairs in what he thinks must be the kitchen. First Cas was tired, and now he’s hungry. It seems that Cas is becoming human very rapidly.

The sound of the tap running makes Dean realize something else. All of a sudden, his mouth feels incredibly dry. He needs water, but Dean doesn’t want to bother Cas, so he decides to wait for Cas to return that evening to give his next injection.

By late afternoon, the sensation has become unbearable. He calls out to Castiel a few times, but gets no response. Either Cas’ angelically enhanced hearing has disappeared, or he’s really that mad. Not that Dean can blame him, really.

Dean gets desperate a few hours later. He spotted a case of bottles water high on top of a shelving unit to his right earlier in the day, but there’s no way that he can reach it. Still, he has to try something.

He considers trying to pick the lock on the handcuffs with the bobby pin that he always keeps attached to the hem of his shirt, but then he remembers that the cuffs are enchanted to entrap demons, and that picking the lock wouldn’t do much good anyway. Dean’s next brilliant idea is to try to knock over the shelves with his feet. Since his hands are chained to the floor, he abandons him chair and stretches himself out on the ground to get as close to the wall as possible. His toes barely scrape against the leg of the shelving unit. It’s hopeless. They’re way too heavy to knock over that easily, and knowing the Men of Letters, they’re probably bolted to the wall anyway.

It could just be from the extreme thirst, but Dean also notices that he feels tired. He feels like if he closed his eyes, he could easily fall asleep right there on the floor. Or pass out from dehydration; it’s hard to say.

After sitting on the floor and thinking for a while, Dean gives into his frustration. He stands, picks up the aluminum chair, and hurls it at the water. It smacks into the shelf, and then falls to the ground with a loud chattering sound. The case of water doesn’t even budge. And even without his angel powers, Cas probably heard that. To make matters worse, the chair is now just slightly out of reach. So Dean lies down on the concrete again with his arms over his head and tries to retrieve the makeshift projectile with his feet, just like he’d tried to knock over the shelves. He’s still attempting this maneuver when Cas opens the door and sticks his head into the room.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asks in his usual monotone voice. Dean looks up at the unattainable bottles of water, then back at Cas.

“Water,” he whispers hoarsely. Cas furrows his brow, then turns to leave. Dean knows that Castiel is mad at him, but surely he can’t be that heartless. A few minutes later, he returns with two cold bottles of water from the fridge, which he places on the table.

Dean kneels on the ground as he cracks open one of the bottles and downs it in a single gulp. The other he decides he should save for later.

“Thank you,” he says to Castiel, who has retrieved the far-flung chair in the meantime.

“It is not a problem. Is there anything else you need?”

“Um… I think I’m ok for now,” Dean replies. When Cas turns to leave again, Dean decides that he doesn’t want him to. “Hey, Cas,” he says, causing the angel to pause. “Will you stay? It’s gotta be about time to shoot me up again, right?”

Cas hesitates, but then nods. Dean almost thinks that he sees a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

“Look, man, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings before. I’m just not very good at that kind of thing. I always find some way to fuck it up,” Dean says. But he knows that he should be doing more than making excuses. “I’m sorry,” he adds.

“It’s ok, Dean,” Castiel replies, “I understand.”

Dean has more to say, but Cas’ words and body language scream that he doesn’t want to hear it. He watches silently as Cas finds another syringe and fills it with his grace. It might be Dean’s imagination, but it seems to take longer to fill the tube than it had before.

“Cas, are you ok?” Dean asks.

“I’m fine, Dean.” Cas, it seems, is doing his best to avoid direct eye contact.

But he doesn’t exactly look fine. His clothes are still rumpled, and there are noticeable bags under Cas’ eyes.

“You don’t look fine. I’m worried about you,” Dean says. He sees Cas roll his eyes slightly. “I’m serious! I know I act like an asshole sometimes, but I… I do care about you.”

“I know that you do,” says Cas. He approaches Dean with the syringe in hand, then pauses and looks at Dean properly for once.

It is then that Dean realizes what Cas is doing, what he’s been doing this whole time. He is waiting for Dean’s consent.

It makes sense. If an angel needs a person’s consent to use them as a vessel, to store all of their grace, then they could very well need consent to do this with their grace as well. Dean realizes, too, why Castiel had started off offering him pieces of that story about ‘the last time they did this’ in exchange for his cooperation. He was trading information for his consent without ever letting Dean realize that he needed it.

“You need my consent,” Dean declares knowingly. Cas looks worried.

“Dean, I didn’t want to lie to you, but…”

“It’s ok, Cas, I understand why you couldn’t tell me before.” If the demon version of Dean had figured this out, well, Dean doesn’t want to think about what might have happened. “That was actually really clever, tricking me like that,” Dean admits. “And you really had me going with that story, too, something about how we had ‘done this before’? Did you just make that up?”

“No, Dean,” Cas says with a very serious face, “I did not make that up. I was telling the truth.”

“Cas, if another angel erased part of my memory, then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it wasn’t important,” Castiel answers.

“Well, whatever I’m missing was obviously important enough to _somebody_ if they bothered _erasing_ it from my mind!”

“Dean,” Cas says, clearly not wanting to talk about it. “May I?” he asks, motioning to Dean’s arm.

“Yeah, of course,” Dean responds. He grimaces at the familiar pain from his fifth injection of angel grace in the past three days. If he really had experienced this before, how could he have forgotten it so easily? It isn’t the kind of pain a person easily forgets. It reminds Dean of being tortured on the racks in hell.

Dean focuses on his last memory from the Pit, ripping apart another soul. It’s an image that’s plagued his nightmares for years, and it’s not something that he likes to think about if he can help it. But if there really is a piece missing from his memory, it should fit in directly after that. He has tried before to remember being pulled out of hell, but has never had any luck. He focuses on that last image, and then draws a blank, just like always.

Out of nowhere, Dean is struck by a flash of realization. But it’s not about hell or being rescued. The pain that’s spreading into his chest suddenly feels familiar, but not familiar from the past few days. Somehow, Dean senses that he’s felt it before, but not in this room. He’s felt it lying down, in a room with wooden walls instead of brick and concrete. It’s just the tiniest hint, but it’s enough to make him gasp audibly.

“What is it? Are you alright?” Cas asks.

The slightly panicked look on Castiel’s face triggers another spark of memory. In an instant, Dean remembers feeling Cas’ hand on his shoulder, exactly where his handprint scar once was. He also remembers the accompanying tingling sensation on his skin, the hum of pleasure somewhere deep inside himself. Then the memory stops as suddenly as it began. Dean grabs his left shoulder with his opposite hand, but the brand is no longer there, and hasn’t been for years. Castiel himself removed it one of the many times he healed Dean.

Dean looks to Cas, who stares back intensely with his mouth slightly open. “I… I’m fine,” Dean manages to say. But Castiel still looks suspicious.

These images, these memories don’t fit with the timeline of what Dean knows to be true. But they feel incredibly real, not at all like a dream or something he had imagined. And if he really is remembering the pain of angel grace being shot into his veins, then Cas must be telling the truth.

Dean tries to focus on these new memories in the hope of uncovering more, but not long after Castiel leaves the room, Dean finds himself feeling tired again. He thinks that if he tried, he might even be able to fall asleep…

 

~~~

 

_Six years ago_

 

When Dean woke up the next morning, he was immediately aware of two things. One, he did not remember having a nightmare that night, which was rare, and two, he was somehow fully clothed, which was not how he remembered falling asleep. He wondered for a moment if maybe the previous night had been a dream, but then he registered Cas’ arm draped over his side and pressed against his chest, and Cas’ face nuzzled against his neck.

Dean had never been the little spoon a day in his life, be he had to admit that it had its perks. He didn’t have a dead arm, and with nothing to press up against, his dick was behaving for once.

Castiel’s embrace made him feel safe. He could let himself be vulnerable but still feel secure for the first time in practically forever. For much of his life, the weight of the world had been on Dean’s shoulders. It was always watch out for Sammy, kill all of the monsters, protect all of the people. But not then. For a fleeting moment, nothing mattered besides Cas’ arms around him.

Cas started to pull away, having realized that dean had woken up. But Dean wanted none of that, and griped Castiel’s arm tightly.

“No, stay,” Dean commanded. And, of course, Castiel couldn’t say no, because he would already do just about anything that Dean asked, and also because he didn’t want to let go either.

Eventually, Dean’s bladder intervened and ruined the moment. When he returned to the room, Cas was sitting on the edge of the bed, suit and trench coat looking neatly pressed. But when he looked up at Dean, his eyes were dull with sadness.

“I think its time to try this again,” Castiel said. He held out the bottle of holy water to Dean without looking him in the eye. He looked at Dean’s soul once more, and again saw no hint of dark scars that had been there not long ago. Uriel was right. It was time.

“Really?” Dean asked, taking the bottle in his hand and unscrewing the cap. Castiel nods.

Dean inserted his finger into the neck and hesitated before touching the water that he expected to burn him. But of course, it didn’t.

Dean’s face lit up with relief. “Alright!” he said enthusiastically as he poured a small amount of the holy water over the back of his hand for good measure. “You fixed me, Cas!” he proclaimed as he wrapped his arms around the angel’s torso.

Castiel faked the smallest of smiles and did not return Dean’s embrace. He really was going to have to say goodbye to Dean that day, he realized.

Sensing Cas’ discomfort, Dean pulled away from the hug. “What’s the matter? Isn’t this great?” he asked.

“Of course, Dean.” Cas said.

“Does this mean I can go and find Sammy now? Can you take me to him? I mean, the kid can be annoying sometimes, but god I miss him. You’ll love him, I promise.”

“You will see your brother again very soon, I’m sure.” said Cas. But Dean could tell that Cas was upset.

“I don’t get it, Cas. What’s with you?”

“I suppose I regret that our time together has come to an end.”

“What do you mean? You can come with me,” Dean offered. He would have to come up with some explanation for a tag-along angle to tell Sam and probably Bobby, but it would be worth it. “I want you to come with me.”

“I wish that I could, Dean, but I have other orders,” Castiel explained.

“Oh,” said Dean. Castiel had told him that the angels were soliders, champions of God’s will. It made sense that Cas had better things to do than tag along with the Winchesters. “Well, can you come visit or something?”

“I hope to see you again one day, but you will not recognize me, I’m afraid.”

“What?” asked Dean. He furrowed his brow in confusion. Why wouldn’t he recognize Cas?

“You will not remember anything that has happened since your last day in hell. I must erase it from your mind.” Cas says matter-of-factly.

It took Dean a moment to process what that exactly that meant. No memory of being rescued, no memory of being part demon, and most importantly, no memory of Castiel. They had only known each other for a few days, but Cas was already so important to Dean. He trusted him, and that was rare. He made Dean feel safe and secure and _loved_ , and that was nearly impossible.

“Why would you say that?” Dean asked, still shocked.

“Because it is the will of heaven, and it must be so.” It was the will of Zachariah, Castiel thought to himself, but this was hardly the time for angelic politics.

“And you just do whatever they tell you? That’s bullshit, Cas!” Dean shouted. “You son of a bitch, I thought I meant something to you! I thought…” But Dean wasn’t sure what he thought anymore. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t anything special to Cas at all. Maybe Cas had sex with all kinds of men that he rescued from hell. Maybe it meant nothing at all.

But the look on Cas’ face said otherwise.

“Dean, I…” Castiel started to say. But Dean wasn’t listening. He turning away rapidly and ran out of the room. He knew that he probably wouldn’t get very far, but he had to try. He had to fight for his memories of Cas.

He made it all the way through the living area and out the front door before Cas appeared directly in his path. There was a small deck on the front of the cabin complete with a wooden porch swing. Dean turned to the side and leaned against the railing opposite the swing.

“You mean a great deal to me, Dean,” Castiel said. “You’ve shown me a bit of what it means to be human. You’ve let me experience things that I’ve long wondered about, but never tried to understand. And for that, I owe you a considerable debt.”

Dean thought for a moment. The look on Cas’ face said that he didn’t want this any more than Dean did. But Castiel was a dutiful soldier, and he would need one hell of a good reason to disobey.

“You owe me?” Dean asked. Castiel gave a small nod. “Then don’t do this. Don’t touch my memories. Stay with me. Be with me.”

“Dean… even if I could leave you with your memories in tact, I have other work that I must attend to. I supposed I might as well tell you that there are demons that are attempting to break the seals to Lucifer’s crypt. We have to stop them.”

Lucifer. The devil himself. That didn’t sound good, but Dean honestly wasn’t that surprised. Damn demons, always trying to fuck shit up.

“Dude, if there’s demons that need ganking, that’s kinda what Sam and I _do_. We could help you.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Castiel said, taking a small step toward Dean.

“Then we’ll help you. If you keep your mitts out of my brain.”

Dean thought he saw the tiniest hint of a sly smile on Castiel’s face.

“If it helps you out with your boss or whatever, I could always pretend that I don’t remember you,” Dean added. Now he could definitely see the gears turning in Castiel’s head. The angel took another step forward.

“Okay,” he said. Dean sighed in relief, then leaned forward to kiss the smile off of the angel’s face.

They ended up on the porch swing, kissing deeply and hungerly for a while, then just sitting together with Cas’ head on Dean’s shoulder.

Time passed slowly, but too quickly at the same time. Before long, it was nearing noon.

Castiel technically had until sundown to return Dean to his grave, but he wanted to give Dean enough daylight to find his way once he woke up.

“Dean?” Cas whispered.

“Hmm?”

“It’s time,” Cas said, sitting up and looking Dean in the eyes.

“And you promise that when I wake up, I’ll still remember you?”

“I promise,” answered Cas.

“Ok,” Dean said. Castiel raised two fingers toward Dean’s forehead and prepared to knock him unconscious and return him to his grave in Illinois. 

“Do you trust me?” Cas asked while briefly pausing his hand.

“I do,” Dean said without hesitation.

 

~~~

 

The pieces are starting to fall into place for Dean. There are still blanks in the chronology of it all, but the basic storyline is starting to make sense.

He’d slept for several hours and woken up with his face sort of stuck to the metal table. Since then, the memories had been coming back rapid fire.

He remembers waking up in the cabin in the mountains and almost immediately throwing a lamp at Castiel. He remembers the terror, shock, and shame of being burned by the holy water later that night. And he remembers the pain of the grace injections.

Dean wonders if it was repeating that particular experience that finally triggered the return of his memories. He’ll have to ask Castiel about that.

What still doesn’t make sense is why these events had been missing from his mind for so long. Cas had said that Zarahriah wiped them. But why? To manipulate him during the apocalypse? That seems about right, but it didn’t quite fit.

But there are still pieces missing, and Dean decides to look for answers there. He focuses on the one memory that doesn’t seem to fit with the rest, Cas touching his shoulder.

He is soon pulled into another similar memory. Cas is touching his shoulder again, but this time Cas is on top of him. And he’s not wearing a shirt. And they’re kissing.

Even the memory of it feels _incredible_. The weight of it all slams into Dean’s chest. He closes his eyes and focuses on the ghost of Cas’ lips against his. He remembers the taste of his skin, the feeling of running his fingers through Cas’ hair, and the blissful shock of their bodies grinding together.

Dean has spent years idly wondering what these things might feel like, and he’d never done a damn thing about it. All those year wondering, while Cas knew.

God damn it, Cas _knew_. He always had.

That thought made the ach in Dean’s chest far worse.

Dean thinks about all of the times he’s caught Cas staring at him like a lost puppy that had been left in the rain. It had sometimes felt that Castiel was trying to bore into him soul with those looks. And maybe he was. Maybe he’d been willing him to remember, hoping and praying that someday things would change.

But why in the world hadn’t he ever just told Dean the truth? The self-deprecating bastard could have saved them both a lot of heartache.

Fuck it, Dean decides. They’re going to talk about this and they’re going to talk about it right now.

“Castiel, get your feathery ass down here!” he yells. The patter of footsteps on the stairs is slow and agonizing, but Cas eventually opens the door and enters the room. Dean starts in before he has a chance to get a word out.

“Cas, I remember,” Dean begins. “I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I remember. The cabin, and the injections, and the me being part demon thing. And… us.” It’s the only way Dean can bring himself to put it. But Castiel knows what he’s trying to say.

As Dean stares at Cas waiting for a response, he notices that his friend still looks like crap. If anything, he looks worse.

“What?” Cas asks. “It’s not possible…”

“Cas…”

Dean’s not sure what he wants to say. Part of him wants to run over to Cas and kiss away the disbelief. But he can’t do that because he’s still chained to the floor. And besides, the other part of him is royally pissed that Cas has kept this to himself for so long.

But Dean doesn’t have long to be lost in his own thoughts, because Castiel is starting to look very pale and weak.

Cas attempts to grab onto the door behind him for support, but a second later, he hits the ground unconscious.

“Cas!” Dean screams, jumping up out of his chair.

Cas’ hand falls open as it hits the concrete and a full syringe of grace rolls away from its temporary owner and toward Dean.

Dean pulls at his chains, but it’s no use. He can’t reach Cas.

“God damn it, Cas, you’ve gotta wake up!”

When Cas doesn’t respond, Dean feels tears beginning to pool in the corners of his eyes.

He can’t get to Cas, but Dean realizes that he can reach the syringe on the floor. Dean knows that he’s pretty close to being back to normal. He’d been thirsty yesterday, and he’d slept for part of the night. One last syringe might be all that he needs to restore his soul and allow him to break his chains.

On the other hand, Cas might need that bit of grace even more than he does, depending on what exactly his wrong with him. And how could Dean use it on himself if Cas needed it back?

But of course, Cas can’t exactly inject it back into his on veins right now. And the only chance Dean has of getting over to Cas means using the grace on himself.

And if he’s being honest, Dean knows that that is what Cas would want. Everything the guy ever does is to try to save Dean.

So Dean picks up the syringe, unsheathes the needle, and injects what might be the last bit of Castiel’s grace into his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave me comments; a magical fairy will bring you cookies if your do!
> 
> Also, fair warning, I've started writing chapter six and I might have cried...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the angstiest chapter yet. But in a good way. I promise that it will make you feel the feels.

Sam lets the empty whisky bottle slip from his fingers. It hits the ground with a small thud, but doesn’t break. No matter, it is useless to him now either way.

He still has a few hours to wait, but he’s already plenty drunk and he figures he might as well pass the time here rather than in some bar or motel. No, he’d rather be here, sitting on the hood of the Impala, even if he is parked in the middle of a cemetery.

 

~~~

_Six years ago_

 

Castiel circled over the gravesite, careful to remain invisible to any humans below, though there didn’t appear to be any in the relatively remote area. He’d already placed a (temporarily) unconscious Dean back in his narrow pine box, made sure that he had enough oxygen in the small space to survive the next hour or so, and returned his vessel so that he could watch over Dean from above.

Dean had only been back in the ground for a few minutes at most, but Castiel was nervous. He knew that Dean would wake up momentarily. He knew that, but the situation still made him feel anxious.

He felt even more afraid when he sensed the presence of another angel headed his way. He felt was a certain stillness in the air, but also something chilling and electric. Castiel inhaled sharply.

This was not good. This was very, very not good.

Castiel started to panic, but remembered that he needed to keep his cool. Zachariah did not know that Castiel had forsaken his orders and left Dean’s memory intact. There was no way that he could know. All Castiel needed to do was maintain his composure, and everything would be alright.

“Castiel!” Zachariah shouted when he arrived on the scene. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Or maybe he did know.

“I have healed the righteous man and returned him to his grave, just as you asked,” Castiel responds as calmly as he can.

“That is not _all_ I asked, Castiel.” The tone was accusatory, and Castiel felt himself start to panic.

Zachariah turned to move toward the grave, but Castiel shifted to block his path.

“What are you trying to hide?” asked Zachariah. “What have you done?”

“I have told you the truth,” Castiel responded. But Zachariah remained suspicious. Castiel never was very good at telling lies.

“When Uriel warned me of your deceit, I did not believe him at first. I believed that you had changed, Castiel. But now I see that I was wrong.”

There was a time when Castiel would have been disappointed in himself at receiving such a speech, but he’d heard it before and was no longer shocked. Besides, he was far more concerned for Dean’s well being that for his own reputation among his brothers and sisters.

“I never should have trusted you with this mission,” Zachariah continued. “You have placed this human above the mission of the Holy Host. You are a disgrace! Now step aside, and I will finish this myself.”

When Castiel didn’t move, Zachariah used his superior strength to push him aside. He swooped down toward the grave quickly, as if he was expecting further resistance from Castiel. But the junior angel remained frozen in the sky, paralyzed by the crippling realization of what was happening.

It was so easy for Zachariah to reach his hand into the grave. Wiping the past few days from Dean’s mind was a simple matter, a routine part of his job.

Castiel had promised Dean that he would not let this happen. He’d made a promise to this human that he’d come to value highly enough to defy heaven for, and he hadn’t even kept it for an entire day. Castiel had never felt like more of a failure in his multi-millennia long life.  

With the deed done, Zachariah turned and left as quickly as he’d appeared without so much as a disapproving glance to Castiel.

Filled with anger, regret, anguish, and so many other human emotions that he was never meant to feel, Castiel sank down to the ground and knelt near Dean’s grave. He tried to gather these emotions, to ball them up and hide them away, but they continued to wash over him like the relentless tide against the shore. He was so angry with Uriel and Zachariah, so disappointed in himself, and so distraught that he had failed Dean. The sensations overwhelmed him.

In an instant, Castiel’s hold on them slipped, and they escaped from his control in a burst of angelic power and a cry of anguish. The shockwave of his anger and raw emotion mixed with the force of his grace ripped through the immediate area with a loud crack. The trees snapped and fell in a circle radiating away from the grave.

Castiel had forgotten for a moment that he was no longer in his earthly vessel. He had forgotten his own power. But he did not have time to consider the destruction he had just caused, because he sensed movement from within the grave. Dean had woken up and flicked on his lighter, which was an understandable instinct, but also a waste of precious oxygen.

After retreating to a safe distance, Castiel counted the oxygen molecules one by one, and then calculated the concentration and the rate of depletion in less than a second. Dean still had plenty of air, plenty of time.

Castiel considered reclaiming his vessel, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Dean, even for a few minutes. He watched as Dean emerged from the ground in no time at all and found his way to the nearby road. By the time Dean broke into the abandoned gas station and rediscovered the handprint scar on his shoulder (that he clearly did not remember), Castiel had come up with a ridiculous and desperate idea. There was a legend in heaven that if a human were strongly bound to an angel, they could perceive that angel in their true form. But of course, the shrill, piercing sound of Castiel’s true voice only broke the windows and hurt Dean’s ears.

After reuniting with Bobby and Sam, Dean’s focus fell to figuring out what or who had pulled him from the pit. Dean was once again asking all of the same questions that Cas had already answered, but he would have to do it again.

Cas smiled to himself at the sad irony as he repeated nearly word for word the conversation he’d had with Dean on the first night in the cabin, this time in a barn outside Pontiac, Illinois. Some small part of him dared to hope that the familiar words would trigger Dean’s memory. Castiel stared deeply into Dean’s eyes, willing with every fiber of his being for Dean to remember, but it was not to be.

Time passed, and Uriel and Zachariah kept a close watch on Castiel’s interactions with the hunters. But whenever he was given the choice, Castiel kept choosing Dean over heaven, time and time again.

If he could not reclaim what he once had with Dean, he would simply start anew. There were many distractions, and things moved slowly, but every now and again, Dean would look at Cas a certain way, and Castiel would hope.

But there was always another case to solve, another monster to kill, another war to fight in heaven. They never seemed to find the time to simply be together as they had in the cabin in the mountains, isolated from all the cares in their worlds.

Time dragged on slowly, and Castiel gradually accepted his circumstances. Dean was never going to remember, and Cas was never going to be able to replicate the correct circumstances and stage a re-do. But he had a life with the Winchesters, and that was something to be thankful for, he supposed.

For Castiel, remaining a part of Dean’s life without being able to tell him the truth of how they met was torture, but it was worth it. He would rather stay and protect Dean as a friend than try to live without him. It was the lesser of two evils, he supposed, and he was happy with his choice.

 

~~~

 

Castiel’s grace burns through Dean’s veins one last time, but he barely notices the pain. Adrenaline flows along side it, and Dean continues to desperately call out Cas’ name. But the angel remains unresponsive, even as the pain throughout Dean’s body slowly begins to fade. He doesn’t feel remarkably different, and he hopes that the last bit of grace that Castiel had left to give was enough to finish the job.

Once Dean can no longer feel the burn of the grace, he takes the bobby pin from the hem of his shirt and concentrates on picking the lock of the handcuffs. They may be enchanted to trap demons, but a human should be able to break out no problem. Dean’s just hoping beyond hope that he falls into that category again.

“Cas!” Dean calls out once more as he works on the lock. “Cas, I need you to wake up.” The pins eventually start to fall into place, and then…

 _Click_.

The cuffs are open, and Dean is free.

But Dean doesn’t have time to consider the implications of this development for the state of his soul. Instead, he immediately crawls over to Castiel and kneels over him.

“Cas, please wake up,” he pleads as he cups the angel – former angel’s – cheeks in his hands. Castiel doesn’t open his eyes, but does groan slightly at the touch. “Cas! Cas, open your eyes. Please.”

Slowly, Castiel complies with the request. “Dean?” he mumbles softly. Dean strongly considers kissing him, but isn’t sure that it would be right given the circumstances.

“You scared the shit out of me!” Dean says, but finishes the sentence with a smile. Castiel reaches up and grabs Dean’s hand as it is drawn away from his face.

“You’re… I’m… _We’re_ human,” he says.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dean agrees. “Thank you, Cas, for fixing me. And for not being dead. God, I’m so glad you’re not dead.”

Castiel pauses for a moment, then says, “me too.”

“Are you okay though? Do you know why you passed out?”

“I was just so tired, so drained of energy. I feel better now, though. But my head does hurt quite a bit.”

“You probably hit your head on the ground when you fell. You might have a concussion,” says Dean. “But it’ll be okay, I promise. It’s my turn to take care of you now.” Dean gently squeezes Castiel’s hand, fingers still interlaced with his own. Cas use Dean’s hand to help pull himself into a sitting position.

“Dean, before I lost consciousness, you said something. I might have dreamt it, but I thought you said that…”

“That I remember,” Dean interjects. “Yeah, no, you didn’t dream that, Cas. I remember. I don’t know how, but I do.”

Castiel squints his eyes and tries to process this revelation.

“I remember the god-awful wood paneling and the spaghetti-o’s and watching star wars and kissing you and…” Dean takes a deep breath, “And I remember that you promised me that when I woke up, I’d still remember. You _promised_ , Cas!”

“I know. I’m sorry that I failed you, Dean. I have no excuse. But I want you to know that I did try to fulfill our agreement. I did not deceive you deliberately. I wanted you to keep your memories, but…”

“But Zachariah thought otherwise.”

“Yes.”

“If I hadn’t already killed that bastard, I’d kill him again!” Dean asserts. “But Cas, even if that part didn’t work out, why the hell didn’t you just _tell me_?”

“Yes, and how do you think that would have went, Dean? ‘Hello, I’m Castiel, I’m an Angel of the Lord. Yes, I realize that you don’t think that angels are real. And get this, you don’t remember any of it, but we spent a few days together after I rescued you from hell and I fixed your soul and fell in love with you. And you don’t remember it, but trust me, it happened.’ And then everything would have worked out just fine, I’m sure.”

Dean rolls his eyes. He’s about to refute the sarcasm, but is distracted by a faint chirping sound. He knows that he recognizes it from somewhere.

“Cas, is that my phone?”

Castiel looks confused for a moment, then reaches into his pocket and produces the phone that Sam had left with him in case of an emergency. Dean snatches it from him and sees that the battery is a 2%. The phone is crying melodramatically to be plugged in. The screen also reports 10 missed calls and 3 voice mail messages, all from Sam.

“Damn it Cas, you do know that you have to charge this thing every once in a while, right? And, I dunno, check it sometimes? Sam’s tried to call you 10 times in the past two days!”

“Oh,” is all that Cas says while Dean presses play on the first voice mail, which is from the day before yesterday.

 

_“Hey Cas, it’s Sam. I hope everything’s going okay with Dean. I, uh, talked to Cain, but he wasn’t very helpful. So I’m not really sure what to do now. But I might have one more idea to get ride of the Mark. I think. So anyways, I’m headed to Lawrence now. Call me back and let me know how things are there. Bye.”_

Voice mail number two is from about twelve hours ago, about a day after the first.

 

_“Hey Cas, it’s Sam again. I’m in Lawrence, and I’m kinda worried that you haven’t called me back. But I’m also kind of not worried, because you never were very good about answering my calls. Dean, though, him you always showed up for. But whatever. Or maybe I’m not very concerned because I’m kinda drunk. I dunno. Anyways, I’m pretty sure that this plan’s gonna work. Gonna get rid of the Mark. Gonna fix Dean. Gotta be a full moon, though, or something. Whatever. Call me.”_

The phone dies then, leaving voice mail number three a mystery for the time being. But the first two have given Dean enough information to set his head spinning.

“Why is Sam in Lawrence?” he asks. Castiel only shrugs his shoulders in response. “And why did he get that drunk? Especially if he’s working a case. I mean, we haven’t even been to Lawrence since… oh _fuck_. Oh FUCK.”

Castiel still looks confused.

“Cas, where did the Mark of Cain come from? Who gave it to Cain?”

“Lucifer, of course.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Dean says with a sigh. “When’s the next full moon?”

“Tonight is a full moon, I believe.”

“Of course it is.” It’s already mid afternoon, but Dean thinks they can make it to Lawrence in four hours, maybe three and a half if he speeds and if they don’t hit any traffic going through Topeka on I-70. “We have to go. Now.”

Dean shoves the phone into his pocket and helps Cas to his feet. When Cas proves to be too dizzy to move very fast, Dean picks him up and carries him bridal style. Castiel protests at first, but decides that he should be grateful for the opportunity to be so close to Dean.

They grab water, some pain pills for Cas’ banged-up head, and a few other supplies on their way out of the bunker. Dean resists the urge to find the First Blade and take it with him, but the pull from the Mark to do so is a grim reminder that even though he is human again, he’s not entirely out of the woods.

“You don’t actually think that Sam would try to contact Lucifer?” Castiel asks once they’re in the car and on the road. Dean decided to hot wire the beautiful red 1952 Cadillac they’d found in the Letter’s garage rather than wasting time looking for the keys.

“You got a better explanation?” Dean retorts. The Caddy is a nice car, but it isn’t the same as his baby. Even though Dean is human again, he’s still kind of pissed that Sam just up and took his car like that.

Castiel doesn’t answer, which Dean takes as a ‘no’. They drive in silence for a while after that.

“If my memory was wiped, then how did it all of a sudden just start coming back like that?” Dean asks.

“I have no idea,” Castiel admits. After a pause, he adds, “perhaps your memories were not so much erased as blocked. I started hinting at them for the first time, you started pocking at the wall inside your head, and eventually it cracked. Injecting you with my grace might have had something to do with it as well. I’m not sure.” Dean nods along, not really sure what to think.

“Why didn’t you ever just tell me, Cas?” Dean asks, finally addressing the true elephant in the car.

“Because you never would have believed me,” Castiel answers.

“You don’t know that. I mean, probably not if you’d have opened with that, but eventually, after I trusted you…”

“It’s not that simple, Dean. I tried to wait for the right time, but there never was a right time. And I began to realize that what happened between us was a product of our circumstances. It never would have transpired that way in the real world. So I let you remain blissfully unaware. And I envied you that very much at times.”

“You just assumed that I wouldn’t believe you without actually giving me the chance. How was that fair to me?” Dean’s angry, sure, but when Cas opened his eyes and looked up at him on the bunker floor, he knew that he still loved him. Maybe more than he ever had. He just still doesn’t have the guts to say it out loud.

“Life isn’t fair, Dean. Even I know that,” Castiel snaps. “And can you honestly say that you would have believed me?”

Dean sighs in frustration because Cas has a point. “I don’t know. But I wish you would have told me,” says Dean. “I mean, that was six years ago, Cas! That’s so much time…”

“And would you have spent it any differently if you had known?”

“I don’t know,” Dean mumbles. The lives of hunters and fallen angels aren’t exactly conducive to stable, long-term romantic relationships. “But it would have been nice to know the truth.”

“Will you spend it differently now?” Castiel asks, trying not to get his hopes up. Another reason that he never told Dean about the cabin is that he’d rather hold on to his own memories than have them invalidated by real-world rejection.

“Right now, I have to focus on stopping Sam from doing… whatever it is he thinks he’s doing.” No matter what, family always has and always will come first for Dean.

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel says. It is the sort of answer he expects from Dean. There had always been something more important on the horizon. It had never been the right time for this conversation, and maybe it never will be. But nevertheless, Castiel will wait patiently. He’s has years of practice, after all.

As he drives down the two-lane highway through the wheat field of Kansas, Dean feels the ach in his arm grow stronger the further away he gets from the bunker and the Blade. No, restoring Dean’s humanity did not entirely solve the problem. Stopping whatever Sam’s up to won’t be the last of his troubles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, will Dean ever just spit it out? And poor Castiel, the angel who waited. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I promise that chapter 7 will be up before the season 10 premier.   
> If you leave me comments, I'll love you forever!


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asks, trying to gently wake up Castiel from his hour-long nap in the car. The former angel slowly opens his eyes, peels his face from the window, and groans slightly at the disturbance. “I had to stop for gas, so I though I’d go inside and try to charge the phone to see what that third voice mail says.” Cas has to process what Dean said, then nods. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine,” Cas says bitterly, closing his eyes as if the sunlight bothered him.

“Does you head hurt worse than it did?”

Castiel slowly shakes his head no.

“Well, that’s good at least,” Dean says. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Castiel watches as Dean walks away. The part of his brain that’s still half asleep is reminded of all of the times that Dean has (figuratively) walked away from him over the years. So many times they’ve been so close to something happening between them, but something always pulls Dean away. Be it a case, or Sam’s watchful eyes, something always made Dean make some comment about personal space and turn his back on Castiel.

The former angel lets his heavy eyelids fall shut with a sigh. He’s not sure if he’s so tired because of his skull’s recent run-in with a concrete floor, or if his body is just struggling to adjust to the loss of his grace. Just like the last time he lost his grace, Cas will now be of little help to the Winchesters. There was a time when he’d thought that maybe he could learn to be a hunter like them, but perhaps it’s just not meant to be. And he certainly doesn’t want to be a burden to his friends.

Dean now knows the truth about their past, but Castiel isn’t sure that it’s changed anything between them. As he drifts back to sleep, he wonders where he stands with the man he fell for.

 

~

 

The next time Cas wakes up, the sun is setting and they’ve definitely changed locations. He can see gravestones outside of the window. He’s alone in the car, but he hears voices nearby. That’s probably what woke him up, he guesses.

“I don’t care, Sam! I was a dumbass decision and you know it!” Dean yells.

“You would have done the same thing!” Sam retorts.

“How many fucking times are we going to have this same conversation?”

“Probably forever,” says Sam. “Listen, we can have this argument later if you want, but we’ve still got a bigger problem. We’ve still got to get that thing off of your arm, Dean.”

“We’ll figure something out, okay?”

“We better! Do you realize what will happen if we don’t?”

“Yeah, I know Sammy. It’ll just happen again. And Cas won’t be able to fix me again.”

“So what are we going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admits. It is the same conversation Sam and Dean have probable had hundreds of times. Part of Cas believes that they’ll find a solution simply because they always do. The other part really isn’t sure that there is a solution to find this time. If Crowley really doesn’t have any information, Cain is unwilling to help, and contacting Lucifer is out of the question, then Castiel is honestly fresh out of Mark of Cain removal ideas.

 

~

 

Castiel jolts awake as some sort of spell rockets through the air. His heart threatens to jump out of his chest as he sits up and looks around to find the source. As he tumbles out of the car, he sees Dean standing near an older man he does not recognize. Sam is several paces away from them looking on intently. Dean recoils from the aftershock of the spell and examines his arm.

“Dean!” Castiel shouts as he fights his dizziness to get to Dean as quickly as possible. “What just happened?” he asks as he pushes his way between Dean and the stranger.

“It’s gone, Cas,” Dean explains, holding out his forearm for Cas to inspect.

He gently runs his fingers over the place where the Mark used to rest. It is indeed gone. “How?” he asks, turning toward the strange man behind him.

“I decided to take back what is rightfully mine,” answers the grey-haired man. Castiel’s eyes widen and he instinctively recoils a step back from the father of murder himself.

“Thank you again,” Dean says, extending his arm to shake hands with Cain. It is a gesture of respect and camaraderie shared between two very different, but very similar warriors. “I’m sorry that I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.”

“You killed Abbadon; you won my revenge. Yes, I had hoped that you could kill me as well, but even if I could die, I don’t know that I would ever see her again. But this way, you are free to live your life, your _human_ life, and I think that Collette would be happy with that. I didn’t get to spend the time with her that she deserved, but that is no reason to damn you to the same fate,” Cain offers, glancing at Castiel with his last sentence.

Castiel looks to Dean, then back to Cain. Sam coughs to break the silence.

“This is a burden that I have come accustomed to bearing, and as long as you keep the Blade safe, I think that we will all be better for it,” Cain says. “I will leave you now, Dean. These two do not look well,” he adds before disappearing.

It is probably an accurate assessment, Castiel thinks. There is still quite a throbbing in his own head, and Sam looks like he is nursing a substantial hangover. The sun has fully set by now, and Castiel is dreading making the long trip back to Lebanon yet tonight. When they climb into the Impala, Cas takes the backseat and falls asleep shortly after.

 

~

 

“Cas?” Dean asks gently. When Castiel forces his heavy eyelids to open, he finds himself on a soft bed in a dark room illuminated only by a dim lamp on the bedside table. Dean is sitting on the side of the bed staring down at him intently. Castiel can’t have been asleep long enough for them to have made it all the way back to the bunker. At least he doesn't think so. “Hey,” Dean says, “I’m sorry, but I have to wake you up every four hours because of your concussion. Gotta make sure you’re head’s doing okay, you know?”

Castiel nods, but continues to looks around in confusion. The room doesn’t look familiar to him at all. “Where are we?” he asks.

“In a motel in Lawrence,” Dean answers. Castiel notices a second bed in the room, but it unoccupied.

“Where’s Sam?”

“We got two rooms. He needs to sleep off all of the hard liquor he drank, and I’ll have to keep waking you up all night.”

“How did I get here?”

“I carried you from the car.” Dean says this so matter-of-factly, but the simple statement shocks Castiel. Dean didn't have to do that. He could have woken him up. He could have walked this time; this isn’t like when they had been in a rush to get out of the bunker and onto the road. This is caring and tender.

“You didn’t have to do that, Dean,” Cas says.

“Hey, I know that you need your sleep. Being human again all of a sudden can’t be easy.”

Castiel nods. “You need to sleep too,” he says after glancing at the still perfectly made bed a few feet away.

“I was worried about you,” Dean admits.

“What time is it?”

“Almost midnight. Not that late,” Dean asserts. “Look, I know that I owe you an actual legitimate conversation about us, but we’ll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow morning, I promise. Go back to sleep, Cas,” he instructs. Dean stands up and moves toward the other bed, but Castiel reaches out to grab his wrist before he can get too far.

“You can stay here with me,” he offers.

Dean hesitates, but Castiel implores him with his eyes, which he knows will be difficult for Dean to say no to.

Dean steps out of his shoes, and slips under the covers next to Castiel. He squeezes Castiel’s hand, which he kept hold of the entire time. Castiel thinks that he looks nervous for some reason, so he gently squeezes Dean’s hand in return before closing his eyes. He wishes that he could stay awake and talk to Dean _now_ , but his body simply refuses to cooperate.

 

~

 

Castiel is rudely awakened by the sound of the alarm on Dean’s phone. This time, he did not sleep peacefully. No, Castiel’s brain decided to replay one of the last times that Dean had said they needed to talk, the time he’d asked Castiel to leave the bunker after the first time he fell. But as is often the case with dreams, the memory had been twisted to fit their current situation.

Castiel isn’t afraid of demons or vampires, and he isn’t really even afraid of other angels anymore, but he is afraid of loosing Dean.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks, obviously able to see how startled Cas is.

“Yes, I’m fine. I just had a bad dream, I suppose,” Castiel answers while staring back at Dean in the darkness.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Castiel really sort of _does_ want to talk about it; because he could surely use some reassurance that Dean does care about him and won’t ask him to leave again. But he can’t bring himself to ask that question, and instead shakes his head and looks away from Dean’s face. He happens to see the cell phone lying between them.

“Did you ever listen to the third voice mail?” Cas asks in order to change the subject.

“Sam mentioned something about sending the Mark back where it came from, so I knew that he really was going to try and make some sort of deal with the damn devil. I never thought I’d say something like this, but thank God Crowley was tailing him.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Crowley apparently followed Sam to Kansas looking for another hit of his favorite blood. He figured out what Sam was up to, and he somehow convinced Cain that it was worth taking the Mark back rather than risk Lucifer getting out of the cage again. Who knows what he said or what he offered him in exchange. Crowley doesn’t want Lucifer back and kicking any more that we do, so it sort of makes sense I guess.”

“Do you really think that Sam would have let Lucifer out?”

“I know he wasn’t planning on it. He just wanted to talk to him or something. But who knows what might have happened? I mean, let sleeping dogs lie, you know?”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “But try not to be too upset with Sam; I’m sure that he thought he was doing the right thing. And I should have answered the phone and talked him out of it, so it’s partly my fault as well.”

“No, Cas, don’t blame yourself for this. You had a lot on your plate.”

There is a lull in the conversation, and Castiel considers how easy it would be to close his eyes and go back to sleep. But it has been several days now since Castiel first told Dean that he loves him, and he’s waited far too long to hear Dean’s opinion on that subject.

“Dean?” he asks tentatively.

“Yeah?”

“I know that you said we would talk in the morning, but I have one question that I really need to ask you now.”

“Okay, what is it?”

Castiel feels is heart beginning to beat faster and faster.

“I think I’ve been pretty clear about my feelings for you, but I still don’t know how you feel about me. I don’t know if regaining your memory has changed anything for you, and it’s alright if it hasn’t, but I just need to know. Just one simple question: do you love me?”

“Jesus, Cas, I wouldn’t exactly call that a simple question!”

“A simple yes or no will suffice,” Castiel adds. He has no idea how he’s managing to be so frank and demanding about _this_ of all things. He supposes that he just really needs to know, once and for all. For his own sanity.

“Of course I love you, damn it!” Dean says as though it were obvious. “Part of me wants to shout it from the rooftops at the top of my lungs, part of me always has. But the other part of me is always so damn afraid that I’ll screw it all up somehow. But that doesn’t matter anymore, because I love you, Castiel. And I don’t know how this is all going to work out, but I know that I want it to.”

Castiel is so relieved he thinks he might cry. Luckily, Dean kisses him before that happens.

 

~

 

Dean’s alarm goes off again at 8 am. Castiel wakes up with Dean’s arms around him, and the worrying thought that maybe things said at 4 in the morning don’t really count swimming in his head.

“Good morning,” Dean says before planting a kiss at the base of Castiel’s neck.

“Mmm, good morning,” Cas replies.

It was a pretty good way to wake up, really, Castiel concludes.

After an abridged version of a morning routine, they meet up with Sam and collectively decide to forgo breakfast, sense they should be back to the bunker by noon. Dean decrees that Sam will drive the borrowed Cadillac while Dean and Cas take the Impala.

After sleeping for nearly all of the past 24 hours, Castiel is finally starting to feel normal again. When he does start to feel a bit tired, he rests his head on Dean’s shoulder and silently thanks the Impala for having bench seats. He stays awake, though, and even hums along to a few of the songs on the radio.

“Did you really mean what you said last night?” Castiel asks once they’ve gotten to the part of the drive where the scenery consists mostly of cumulus clouds and waving wheat.

Dean is silent for a moment. “I’m no expert on love, but yeah, I meant what I said,” he replies. “I mean, all I know is that when my memory came back, the first thing I wanted to do was tell you. But then you came into the room and passed out before I really could. And I thought for a second that you might have died, and that scared the crap out of me. Because I didn’t want you to be dead, and also because I didn’t want you to be dead without getting the chance to tell you that I love you, too. So, like I said, I’m not an expert by any means, but I think that that means that I love you, yeah?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Castiel says with a smile. “So what happens now?” he asks a bit further down the road.

“I don’t know, what do you want to happen?” Dean asks.

“I would like to stay with you, if you’ll have me.”

Dean lets out a small laugh at Castiel’s uncertainty. “I think that’s a given, Cas.”

“Okay,” Castiel says, “What do you want?”

“Well, I think that the near future should involve you fucking me senseless on my memory foam mattress,” Dean says with a grin as he draws his hand up Casitel’s inner thigh.

“I think we can make that happen,” Cas says.

They beat Sam back to the bunker, but he shows up about 15 minutes later with apology hamburgers and milkshakes for all. Castiel thoroughly enjoys his vanilla milkshake. He thinks that he’ll also quite enjoy eating food without it just tasting like molecules. Sam goes off to scour the internet for a possible case nearby, and Castiel discovers that he also quite likes the taste of Dean’s chocolate milkshake when he kisses it off of his lips.

About midafternoon, Dean decides that they should lock up the First Blade somewhere deep in the Men of Letters’ vaults.

“I don’t understand, I put it right here,” Castiel says when he finds that the Blade is not where he last saw it when he cleaned up the library after Dean’s demonic rampage of several days prior.

“Are you sure you didn’t put it somewhere else?” Dean asks.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

They ask Sam, who confirms that he hasn’t seen the world’s oldest murder weapon either. The three of them turn the bunker upside down searching for it until late into the evening, but with no luck.

“I don’t understand, it _has_ to be here somewhere,” Dean says.

“Look, it’s getting late, why don’t we take a break and figure this out in the morning,” Sam suggests.

Castiel knows that Dean will be distracted by this new problem, and his mind probably won’t be on Cas tonight. All those years ago, Castiel chose to bottle up his grief and keep his past with Dean a secret rather than distract Dean from stopping the apocalypse. This isn’t so different, really. Cas will wait while Dean deals with more important things.

“Cas!” Dean calls from the end of the nearby hallway. “Aren’t you coming to bed? You promised me something in the car, remember?”

Castiel is astonished. Maybe, just maybe, they actually can make this work, even while leading a Winchester lifestyle.

“Oh believe me, I haven’t forgotten,” Cas replies.

The future is still relatively uncertain. They still have to figure out how the First Blade could have disappeared from their secret bunker, and Dean still has to work on forgiving Sam. Dean and Cas still have to decide what exactly their relationship entails, and they’ll probably have to tell Sam about it at some point. But Castiel knows that they will work all of it out just like they always do. And frankly, he couldn’t be happier, because he finally has an actual future with Dean rather that just one long-gone yesterday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading! Reading your comments always makes my day!
> 
> This is the final chapter of this fic, but I'm considering writing a smutty timestamp as a separate fic if anyone's interested. You can find me on tumblr at thechroniclesofawallflower.tumblr.com, I usually post updates on my writing there.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think in the comments :)


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